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The Visitor - 4/7
VII
a moment goes by as I stare at the hole
(struggling to retain bowel control)
I must have been staring a little too long
She tugs on my coat, and I sense something wrong
I glance at her standing there, wild in the dark
she's shape shifted again, and the difference is stark
once all of the monster's had time to unfurl
What's left underneath is a scared teenage girl
she's flawless, her porcelain skin smooth as cream
such ethereal grace -- as if plucked from a dream
her eyes, once decayed, are now brilliantly lit
Her slender neck lovely, despite choke marks on it
She's looking at me with her eyes full of tears
And her voice, low and faint, echoes in my ears
"I'm sorry", she mutters, voice barely a breeze
Before suddenly lowering me to my knees
With strength so extreme that I'm thrown off my guard
I stumble a bit (my knee smacks the ground hard)
And all I keep thinking, knelt next to the pit
Is that I'm here to die, and be buried in grit
For n0 reason it seems but to crudely fulfill
This monster's desire to exert its dark will
I feel cold and alone, with no clear understanding
of why I'm to die, at this demon's commanding
I close my eyes to it -- I don't want to see
Whatever my killer has in store for me
I whisper, "please -- make sure I don’t survive
whatever you do, don't inter me alive”
but instead of that being the last thing I utter
I feel a cold through me; a frightening shudder
my eyes stay shut tight (in my head, loud alarms)
my kidnapper's seized me, hands gripping my arms
perhaps by some instinct, I open my eyes
to see her before me, in teenage disguise
"what do you want? What's the point of all this?"
she leans into me, interrupts with a kiss
And as our lips join, she steps into my head
I can see her last memories, tinted in red
In an instant I feel everything that she felt;
From the pangs of first love to brutalities dealt
VIII
the first memory, in a light crimson hue
she's on a park bench with her lunch (chicken stew)
grown used to sitting there, each day the same
eating alone, watching the football game
the first time he visits, it's quite the surprise
an older man, gentle, with blue, intense eyes
she notes his good manners, elegant, fine
making her blush with each honey-dipped line
he doesn't stay long, but he asks to return
the next day if she'd like, if her trust did he earn
she doesn't say much (as that is her way)
but she nods anxiously, not sure quite what to say
the very next morning, she wears her best dress
puts her hair up, trying not to obsess
'borrows' mom's perfume and packs up her lunch
smiles at the good day to come (just a hunch)
he returns as predicted and sits at her side
suggesting the two of them go for a ride
and she's obviously not going to get in his car
she politely declines, and they stay where they are
she notes his sp0rt jacket - a varsity type
He says it's quite old, and smells a bit ripe
but he drapes it around her, and says she looks fine
she beams with excitement, feeling divine
a series of visits, but all things must end
he tells her he's lucky to meet such a friend
he kisses her forehead and says his goodbyes
the end of the visit brings tears to her eyes
he wipes off her tears and kisses her cheeks
and says he could stay for a couple of weeks
but they've already stayed here too late, in the park
the streetlights are on, but it's still a bit dark
he mentions that he can see fear on her face
and offers to give her a ride to her place
her better judgement's on kind of a break
she agrees, knowing how long walking will take
after they've driven for almost an hour
she asks where they're going, voice quiet and sour
he assures her it's fine -- she won't be coming back
and with that he hits her, and dream fades to black
-----
a moment goes by as I stare at the hole
(struggling to retain bowel control)
I must have been staring a little too long
She tugs on my coat, and I sense something wrong
I glance at her standing there, wild in the dark
she's shape shifted again, and the difference is stark
once all of the monster's had time to unfurl
What's left underneath is a scared teenage girl
she's flawless, her porcelain skin smooth as cream
such ethereal grace -- as if plucked from a dream
her eyes, once decayed, are now brilliantly lit
Her slender neck lovely, despite choke marks on it
She's looking at me with her eyes full of tears
And her voice, low and faint, echoes in my ears
"I'm sorry", she mutters, voice barely a breeze
Before suddenly lowering me to my knees
With strength so extreme that I'm thrown off my guard
I stumble a bit (my knee smacks the ground hard)
And all I keep thinking, knelt next to the pit
Is that I'm here to die, and be buried in grit
For n0 reason it seems but to crudely fulfill
This monster's desire to exert its dark will
I feel cold and alone, with no clear understanding
of why I'm to die, at this demon's commanding
I close my eyes to it -- I don't want to see
Whatever my killer has in store for me
I whisper, "please -- make sure I don’t survive
whatever you do, don't inter me alive”
but instead of that being the last thing I utter
I feel a cold through me; a frightening shudder
my eyes stay shut tight (in my head, loud alarms)
my kidnapper's seized me, hands gripping my arms
perhaps by some instinct, I open my eyes
to see her before me, in teenage disguise
"what do you want? What's the point of all this?"
she leans into me, interrupts with a kiss
And as our lips join, she steps into my head
I can see her last memories, tinted in red
In an instant I feel everything that she felt;
From the pangs of first love to brutalities dealt
VIII
the first memory, in a light crimson hue
she's on a park bench with her lunch (chicken stew)
grown used to sitting there, each day the same
eating alone, watching the football game
the first time he visits, it's quite the surprise
an older man, gentle, with blue, intense eyes
she notes his good manners, elegant, fine
making her blush with each honey-dipped line
he doesn't stay long, but he asks to return
the next day if she'd like, if her trust did he earn
she doesn't say much (as that is her way)
but she nods anxiously, not sure quite what to say
the very next morning, she wears her best dress
puts her hair up, trying not to obsess
'borrows' mom's perfume and packs up her lunch
smiles at the good day to come (just a hunch)
he returns as predicted and sits at her side
suggesting the two of them go for a ride
and she's obviously not going to get in his car
she politely declines, and they stay where they are
she notes his sp0rt jacket - a varsity type
He says it's quite old, and smells a bit ripe
but he drapes it around her, and says she looks fine
she beams with excitement, feeling divine
a series of visits, but all things must end
he tells her he's lucky to meet such a friend
he kisses her forehead and says his goodbyes
the end of the visit brings tears to her eyes
he wipes off her tears and kisses her cheeks
and says he could stay for a couple of weeks
but they've already stayed here too late, in the park
the streetlights are on, but it's still a bit dark
he mentions that he can see fear on her face
and offers to give her a ride to her place
her better judgement's on kind of a break
she agrees, knowing how long walking will take
after they've driven for almost an hour
she asks where they're going, voice quiet and sour
he assures her it's fine -- she won't be coming back
and with that he hits her, and dream fades to black
-----
Published 24th Mar 2016
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26th Mar 2016 1:14am
Jack_C, luv ~ :-*
You are such an extraordinarily talented poet I have found it difficult to decide where to begin with you commenting upon your immense skill and prowess. It seems to me your skills are multifaceted and diverse, luv, exceedingly so.
This series, for instance, draws one despite one's self, riveting, enthralling, and this is not an unusual phenomenon for you. Your Oz series is much the same. Indeed, your sonnets are achingly lovely as well. Multi-talented, you are, luv. :-*
Your talent is prodigious and gloriously enticing...
Thank you for sharing it, luv. :-*
You are such an extraordinarily talented poet I have found it difficult to decide where to begin with you commenting upon your immense skill and prowess. It seems to me your skills are multifaceted and diverse, luv, exceedingly so.
This series, for instance, draws one despite one's self, riveting, enthralling, and this is not an unusual phenomenon for you. Your Oz series is much the same. Indeed, your sonnets are achingly lovely as well. Multi-talented, you are, luv. :-*
Your talent is prodigious and gloriously enticing...
Thank you for sharing it, luv. :-*
