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Fingers Behind the Mirror/Black Snake, White Dove
Fingers Behind the Mirror:
Fingers behind the mirror. I saw them, all pointing. Yours or mine? Dark from this side. Standing round about, a reflection of choices. Every angle could reach around like a celestial bend. The image and the plane. That's why the hands stay behind. Time could tell, looking back. In retrospect, it all stopped. Pause and reverse. That's when I remembered - it's shattered on the other side. To face the front.
Bleeding fist. Scattered upon the floor, crimson stains the shards of identity. Each one, a fractal, a piece, a piercing thrust, straight from my heart. Never to be whole again. No way to put it back together. Bold contempt. Outward focus. Haughty hypnotism. Hankering hilarity. Hindering hypocrisy. Hinging humanity. It was me. There is a calling to see.
Black Snake, White Dove:
The black snake and the white dove are mingling with sound, like a fury of reason, and a tranquility of acceptance.
A fork in the balanced pathways of logic, constantly influenced by the aesthetics of emotion.
The passing magician pulls a rabbit from his hat.
Hiss or fly away?
I draw a pair of chances, in my change, to play the game.
Wicked flames can consume with insane laughter, or soft plumage can care and understand.
As more tricks are played, the enthralling captivation whispers a secret to the magic.
The show is a given, and not a guess, yet my first reaction is to give my innocence over to the consideration of fascination.
The black snake tips the scales for a moment, revealing itself.
The dove's patient caress remains nestled in its wings.
The power of persuasion intrigues, like a child discovering grasshopper for the first time, or a thief about to break and enter.
The swindling snake, or the free dove?
Fingers behind the mirror. I saw them, all pointing. Yours or mine? Dark from this side. Standing round about, a reflection of choices. Every angle could reach around like a celestial bend. The image and the plane. That's why the hands stay behind. Time could tell, looking back. In retrospect, it all stopped. Pause and reverse. That's when I remembered - it's shattered on the other side. To face the front.
Bleeding fist. Scattered upon the floor, crimson stains the shards of identity. Each one, a fractal, a piece, a piercing thrust, straight from my heart. Never to be whole again. No way to put it back together. Bold contempt. Outward focus. Haughty hypnotism. Hankering hilarity. Hindering hypocrisy. Hinging humanity. It was me. There is a calling to see.
Black Snake, White Dove:
The black snake and the white dove are mingling with sound, like a fury of reason, and a tranquility of acceptance.
A fork in the balanced pathways of logic, constantly influenced by the aesthetics of emotion.
The passing magician pulls a rabbit from his hat.
Hiss or fly away?
I draw a pair of chances, in my change, to play the game.
Wicked flames can consume with insane laughter, or soft plumage can care and understand.
As more tricks are played, the enthralling captivation whispers a secret to the magic.
The show is a given, and not a guess, yet my first reaction is to give my innocence over to the consideration of fascination.
The black snake tips the scales for a moment, revealing itself.
The dove's patient caress remains nestled in its wings.
The power of persuasion intrigues, like a child discovering grasshopper for the first time, or a thief about to break and enter.
The swindling snake, or the free dove?
Published 6th May 2023
Author's Note
These are just two short poems I'd worked on in the past. I figured I'd share them both in one post, since they're so short.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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