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Black Cat |
Spirits and spooks that go bump in the night
live on, eternal, through fear and through fright
yet her full-eyed, contemptuous gaze
like ignoble death puts you in your place.
Like some spellspun, crazed Medusa
caved walls that torment and hold
through hatred; anger; merciless loathing,
turns pure men’s souls to futile stone.
She steals the psyche of all looks
inequitably met and, as the callous bee,
rapes the flower of its precious pollen
to hang in honeycombed galleries.
But, slumber ended, she, entwines your gaze
and, reflected in nightmare’s truth,
you view your naked, worthless self
bound like a myth in timeless eyes.
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by Stuart M. Macfarlane |
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