Winters Past

Winter's Past

The woman, the one with the light cloak and the lighter step, comes back to the tree yet again and searches for the strange packet she'd found before. A new piece of parchment is attached near it but perhaps from a different source than the one she'd left when she first came to this place. This poem is unsigned, the rhyme and rhythm jagged and the beginnings of the lines spell nothing.


Winter's Past --

You lie. It was a game,
To play with me the same as all the rest,
Or just a test to see how far the play would go
For just a day or so and then
Bring it to an end.

Or else a dream of envy born,
Choosing one who wouldn’t scorn the trial
Of your denial of who you are inside,
And so hide it for a day or two,
Play-acting false as true.

Or else a minor madness
Leaving fragments and a sadness when it left,
Feeling bereft of what couldn’t be sustained,
A phantom pain of what is gone
Yet knowing that it’s done.

I keep gifts that I’ve accepted,
They aren’t rejected when their day is past,
Though they didn’t last they meant too much,
Even a touch… I won’t forget…
But the future’s set.

Fools

The same woman yet again, attaching another note at the same place.


Fools --

I played the fool last night,
Or better say I wasn't fool enough.
Give me bells and a jester's cap,
A pig's bladder on a stick,
Then take it from my hand
And whack some nonsense into me
To stop me from taking heart attacks
So seriously, sitting stone-faced,
Watching your fingers try to crumble stone,
Breaking me, though,
Enough for too many words to come out.
I should use your own defense,
A barrier of I-don't-care,
But the pull's too strong,
Curiosity drawn to enigma,
Drawn to the layers of lies,
Afraid only of the truth
For if it's true, I'm damned,
Condemned to what I want,
My hands caressing the bars
While around my neck is hung
The key to what if.