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I saw His Forearms

by

Frank Blacharczyk

her life was a not a fairytale it had action
lots of action blood treachery more blood and drama
the handsome prince never arrived with the kiss
nobody ever knew her identity a different story a different answer
she was a tornado sucked people in just to spit them out
most victimís left before her movie ended

Another world one I had never seen
showed itself in a moment I canít explain
it was as clear as the greed that I see
a drama going nowhere went somewhere
like Jeremiah she was in a well with hope running dry
I talked to her she was speechless at last
the comedy Oh mother is that it was ever played out
she always played her parts well never knowing
which character would appear
war is created by men who walk up the stairs from hell
and put on the skin of man
they look like you and me

She never did listen never understood me
now without interruption i spoke
like a Roman orator telling her everything
that she would never try to understand
as i was growing up her eyes got darker
and more difficult to climb out of the well
her illness created a mute button
and now i could tell her my side
without interruption without looking for acceptance
i wanted her to understand my pain
when i finished i sat and stared
into her distant troubled eyes seeing my past and hers
caused by constant clashes created by manís deadly desires

She was gulping for air gasping for life grasping for hope
each breathe was a gasping a gasping
a gasping a breathe holding onto the earth
when suddenly she opened her eyes and saw me
as if she was waiting for me we looked into each otherís eyes
then I felt a gentle breathe of wind coming from my right side
I saw ghostly arms with ancient sleeves in an unbelievable
moment slide her spirit away leaving me speechless
which is hard to do
the room filled with silence and shock
it was as clear as the greed that I see
it was a happy ending freed by the kiss of her Prince

And when I die
Not all the oil that is our god our salvation
Or gold that makes our eyes sparkle
Or the bank accounts we love to consume
And wear as if we deserve it
Can justify our entrance into that unseen world
Itís as clear as the greed that I see

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