Friday, October 26, 2007

The Doll House

We once lived in a big blue doll-house
With big wooden windows and thin flowery walls.
The outsides were open to children with free will
And the insides opened to pretty blue dolls.
On holidays, the children messed our hair and kissed us and dressed us with new blue suits.
And on days their mothers fed them milk, cookies and guilt, they drowned us with laughter in the nude.

We once lived in a big blue doll-house
Which was passed from Granny to Mama to the little girl in white
And each lived with us in the day
And left us alone in the dark by night.
We loved them all, Granny, Mama and little girl and we let them love us in their own way.
But one day, Mama decided that the little girl didn't do much but play.

We didn't understand their language much
Words are harder to understand than love.
But easier than all, is to feel hurt
As we felt, when our home came crashing down.

In a big brown box, they threw the home they broke.
The big blue windows, flowery walls and all.
And with our home they threw us in,
The ones they loved, their pretty blue dolls.

When they closed the lid, we cried in fright
We cried in fear of a never ending night.
They put our box on the roof to burn
Did we melt of anger or was it the sun?
We died for them, but they never thought us alive
Did they remember the love when they left us to die?
Did they ever remember how they dressed us and kissed us?
Did they ever hear our tears and cries?
Did they ever buy a new blue doll-house -
With blue pretty dolls in ribbons on chairs?
Did they dress their new toys in new blue suits
And drown them, laughing, naked and bare?

Do little girls in white always forget to love
When they grow into Grannies and Mamas too soon?
Do they always serve milk and cookies and guilt
So old pretty dolls can burn on the roof?

Saturday, October 20, 2007

The Terrorist

I detest the bearded man in white and his allies.
His heart is darker than the coal in his eyes.
I've decided he can never be my friend
He has far too many ghastly stories to tell.

When I pass his streets I am filled with vengeance
For the future murders he must contemplate
I can see slit throats and bloody bodies all over
his dirty and brightly colored neighborhood.

A cold shadow, my canopy, and his eyes meet mine.
Fragments of anger and chunks of fear, a shiver runs up my spine.
"What have I done that you hate me so?" his innocent eyes lie.
In silence I answer, my eyes search for his guns or his knife.

"You rape, you kill! You're a maniac, a fanatic!"
I scream in an after thought of impulse.
"You're a murderer, a lunatic, a disgrace to mankind! -
A mad man, if you will!"

He watches me in silence as my eyes begin to boil.
Till they boil and boil and boil and boil and
the froth of my hatred spills.
"You shouldn't be alive," I say, "each of you must die."

He nods and turns around and I can read his mind.
"You're a terrorist!" I shout, words he left behind.
But as he walks a defeated trail, I hear a wordless cry.
"You're as much a terrorist as me, maybe better than I."