Questions
Questions pour from his brain
Into the cup below.
Questions about the coming change.
They pile up and overflow.
Soon the saucer can’t contain;
The queries reach the picot.
Not to worry, they won’t stain;
Though covering the table they go.
Questions pour from his brain
Into the cup below.
But from partaking he’ll refrain,
From the cup he’ll not swallow;
Should he the cup drain,
At the bottom is a plea: “don’t go.”
The Means and the End
Somewhere there are brothers
Who didn’t know how to say goodbye.
They chose to alienate
Rather than shed a tear.
On one occasion, one gave a fist
To his son as a parting gift.
It happened unexpectedly,
In the face, among family and friends.
Another time, the other gave a threat,
Fist held chest high,
Waiting for the right moment;
Begging for the right provocation.
The provocation didn’t come,
In time the fist dissolved into a hand.
So long ago, it seems another time,
Another land.
Withdrawl
Refusing to be provoked,
Another who has difficulty
Deals with imminent departure
Antisocially.
His problem is not the violence of fists,
But the violence of silence,
The hand-to-hand of withdrawing.
He chooses to “drink alone”.
©2015 H.K. Longmore
Musings of a Kunderian Monster 