Waxing Nostalgic

If Jimi says he's a Voodoo Child,
then I'm Isis
and Hathor is my confidant.
My glower freezes you,
but despite the chill of my gaze
you begin to liquefy into a sticky puddle
that hardens at once...
like candle wax.
I've worked a root dispossessing you of
those things you consider most crucial to
your masculinity...
where is your heart?
You've melted,
but I can't see your heart amid the
composition of this sad requiem.
I see nondescript colors of gray and
an insipid tint of pink,
but no pulsating shades of red.
I stand here holding your severed pieces,
but I am reluctant in this reconstruction.
You once said you left your heart in your favorite
suit o' arms.
I frantically search the armor,
only unearthing a soul that's empty
and sold to the highest bidder.
I drop your distorted pieces.
I search the cards for answers...
I look to Hathor for answers...

The Lovers
The Magician
The Fool
The High Priestess...

Hathor pats my shoulder reassuringly

I am Isis
The stitch that held the seam of us.

I cut the thread.


Unknown said...

dope, i can't write like that anymore. i write poetry but not like that anymore

but its dope

emeralda said...

unfortunately i read this poem now in a state of total distress and sadness and you caught me crying here. i mean this poem makes me cry now. damn... it so fuckin hurts to cut threads. i love your poetry. and ideas and images....

and thank you for adding me to your blogs you read. i didnt think i write on relationships but now that you mention it i guess it is true . damn. now you got me smiling again. oh jesus.....

good night

Amadeo said...