The Black Cape

 

Pablo_Picasso,_1902,_The_Absinthe_drinker_(La_buveuse_assoupie),_oil_on_panel,_80_x_62_cm,_Kunstmuseum_Bern.jpg

(The Absinthe Drinker, Pablo Picasso, 1902)

 

The Black Cape

The thick cloak of black and wool

Splayed outward to the darkening skies

Undulating in the wind

A hawk’s eye, targeting my vulnerability

The kill is yours…I have no where to run

No refuge offered–the guardians are all asleep

Lay  upon my weakened bough…

Not for comfort or warmth

We know better–you and me–we have danced this dance before

Do I open my eyes, or shield myself from the horror

Is one better knowing, or hiding?

Either way, there is no mercy

Only bloodshed, wreaking havoc on my humanness

It is no wonder I have become invisible, unable to see the light that once burned fiercely inside

I think they called it innocence, now downgraded to wisdom…if you can get there without surrender

The land mines are many, few too many times a direct hit

Pieced together, scar tissue binding the shreds, bearing similar shape of what keeps the the life force flowing

Preservation is restored

But at what price? A scarecrow without a brain? A tin man without a heart?

I have learned the drill: cower and recoil

Time has no clock; pain has no limits

The darkness will eventually be lifted, but not before retribution has been paid

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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