A Child’s Tears

A child’s tears cut more precise surgeon’s knife–
Envenomed with sting unbated by any spice.
Eyes bleed old vinegar on budding paradise–
If hell is death dealt twice, his cries render it thrice.

That banshee whine ignites the mother rose aflame–
Pink petals wilt as night dispenses thorns untamed–
Deeper than crucifixion they pierce the martyr vein
With fire even Venus dare never constrain.

That prunéd face drips vinegar out swollen cracks–
Submerges the rock–I am–immersed in cataracts.
Each gasp fortifies the flood’s next wave of attack–
Sun sets as the tide pushes the horizon back.

Each teardrop buries smiles another fathom down–
The pressure clogs each breath with murmurs underground
Of greater tears ahead no lullaby can drown
Until–at last–in wood and dirt forever bound.

A child’s tears are the great deluge on Springtide nights.
Hell’s flames cremate, but his newborn cries crucify.

New Talent

Rainbows recede before the peak,
winds whoosh too fast for her to catch,
the thistles tear out from her grasp,
but she still flaps her withered wings.

Elders demand she take her fate,
but her wings span too wide to fit
inside the nook she’s been stuck with;
an island’s no room for her face.

She mimics everybody else,
but the bubble bursts in her hands,
her roses wither into sand,
her hatchling returns to the shell.

Back in her nook with withered face,
she picks up her tools and hits
each problem at the angles missed,
hammering away a new fate.

She usurps the stage with new wings
to present things that surpass peers,
transcend her caste, conquer her fears
of life at the trough of the peak.