Whose hand put to paper
red sable hair, saturate
with pigment
dark
yet not?
Whose mind first created
your image in sepia
tones earthy
raw
well-thought?
Whose eye deviated
from photo, modern media
to render
bird
here caught?
Who
really
is The Creator?
gloss applied over even deep decay
convinces lookers-on that all is well
but not treated and removed,
putrefaction mounts assault
gnawing-gnashing inner structures
down-away.
heart consumed from the core
no support for the sheen
shining gloss slips aside
false-front slides.
Exposing rot, corrosion,
deep inside
gloss applied
over rotting deep decay.
He is precious to someone, that boy, now man
Cardboard bed sullying scene on Powell near First.
Early city visitors and denizens alike
Walk on
Each disregarding berth.
Not a blink or a nod or a thought
Goes his way
As they charge toward moments of importance.
He is precious to someone, that boy, now man
Bassett crib, dresser, walls, sports-gear immersed.
Early twenties mother, on-his-way-up dad,
Adore
Observing him with mirth.
Not a blink or a nod or a thought
Left un-noted
Each recorded as a moment of importance.
He is precious to someone, that boy, now man
Upper bunk, Cardinal life; he leaps headfirst.
Early season trainers and his coach, Division I,
Create
Controlling strength and girth.
Not a blink or a nod or a thought
Issues forth
Without reps plotting moments of importance.
He is precious to someone, that boy, now man
Metal cot sporting buckles, sheetless now – it’s safety first.
Early-onset illness, medication self-prescribed,
Destroy
Perception, options and self-worth.
Not a blink or a nod or a thought
Springs to mind
Minus demons stealing moments of importance.
He is precious to someone, that boy, now man
Rolling bedding from the mission, he does curse.
Early morning hangover, a keen desire to die
Heighten
Feral hungers laced with thirst.
Not a blink or a nod or a thought
Coming lucid
He careens toward final moments of importance.
He is precious.
checking again wanting what won't be no text no call discarded, me Mama was right
*photo prompt by Poets United
you slip out of bed
and out of country
so easy
you become
the one in charge
you slip from my arms
and from my safety
so easy
to assume
the role, enlarge
you slip ‘neath all eyes
avoid detection
so easy
using wisdom
lead the march
you slip from the life
that we created
so easy
no victim
but my heart
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