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Limits
May 23, 2015
The streets are deserted.
The ultimate fiend has arrived.
They cuddle under protective love-shields
or revel in nightmarish cocoons
as it roars and flicks its tongue.
They died of overlove and fear.
The Beast, cursed and blessed by invisibility
wept ponds of pure water
that glistened orange
with the setting sun.
The Beast died of loneliness.
Now I throw rocks at a pond and create ripples,
a fluctuation,
a stir in the Beast’s life-bearing tears.
A ripple on a pond dies at the Limit.
We die beyond them.
© Jorrdyn K., Washougal, WA
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