Window of the Soul
His bliss of
A paradox nearing the complexity of nature.
They just want to believe
that the contradicting worlds are intertwined in their divinity.
Lead me to your fantasy.
And I'll nurse you to consciousness.
Her name, Virginia, his new oasis.
Those speckled eyes contrast the perfection of simplicity,
Yet the risk of imperfection is inviting.
A quarter past six in the morning
And he reaches for a hand through the decrepit fence
Fingers are inches away, but the stretch extends for miles.
Her breath loosens the knot in his throat.
Eyes closed, embracing instinct, he swings both legs over the jagged tips of wire.
Sinking into autumn leaves like quicksand,
Crunching beneath perfectly worn soles.
He opens his eyes to an infinite nothing.
She's gone, but he's still here, and the gate towers past the outline of the sun,
Burning the retinas, forcing gravity to pull down the decorated lids for his sanity.
He turns around to embrace a hand grasping oxygen through the metal.
His mind compels him to abandon this cruel irony,
But just as he turns to flee the insanity of his trusted imperfection
He sees the same fence, the same hand.
The essence of life surrounds his exhausted soul.
One picture, with a canvas of a thousand textures.
The guinea pig of fiction, trapped in a cage awaiting experimentation.
His breath quickens.
The sweat is cold, slowly trickling down his straining neck.
Clenched teeth, silent screams.
Exhaling, he rotates pupils
Feeling the comfort of familiar features,
He pinches his quivering skin.
The bottoms of his feet pat the frigid granite floor
Without a hint of animosity.
An ellipse of time
Becomes a vision of his peers.
Pleasant, familiar, awaking from a daze, but no one seems to notice.
The normality allows him to function.
As the vague voices begin once again to come to existence,
Fingers perform the dance of knowledge.
He knows that hand, each line on the flushed palm.
Seize it, grab it, it's finally within reach.
He strokes the soft skin,
Both warm and enticing.
Finally, those exotic eyes come into view.
But they're not the same, neither welcoming nor mysterious.
Closed windows into the soul of his completion, and
Without warning, their panes break, and the saline rolls down the cheek of desire.
She winces at his touch and pulls away.
The circle of commotion flows feely, turning, winding, panicking.
So this is the world.
A bell chimes.
Back in this haze of emotions, bodies disperse from the site of ridicule.
But as he walks he finds those eyes.
Grazed with affection, they stroke his cheek.
And at the bottom he sees her, but just before her beaming smile greets his declining body,
pupils widen once again.
Sunlight and blankets, awake in the steadiness of realism.
The nails of reality provide
A blanket of discomfort
In his state of supposed
The sunlight fades again to black.
This page was last updated on June 28, 2004 by the KIWW Webmaster.