Aoi Shishi

POWER VS. LOVE

There was a time I would have believed you,
believed in you-but that was abandoned
in a shower of lies and terror brought
about by you, my love, who denies being
the catalyst for this destruction; and 
yet I stay, when I should have fled away
from this fortress of my demise, captured
by memories gone cold and shriveled, long
abandoned for the power and glory
you have obtained from the ruins of time.

The Immortal Woman Sleeps

A pale, immortal woman sleeps,
undisturbed by humanity.
Braided hair lies against her cheek,
a silken lock of raven hair
the color of calamity,
of dark storms brewing bloody wars.
Despite the incessant howling,
the ragng of the scared masses,
she does not stir, this slumbering
Valkyrie, even as thunder
shakes the windows and rumbles loud
its warning. She turns but sleeps on.

Let me close my eyes so I can
dream of a dark cloud hovering
over me. Its waterlogged weight
threatens to burst, washing away
the lingering images and
illusions that night time can bring;
shadowy dreams in black and white,
of long lost memories brought to 
life, and so much is symbollism 
that makes no sense. Even after 
waking, I cannot comprehend
what my mind has dreamt while sleeping.

Whether you run full force
or stumble to the ground,
the world will not crumble,
so long as I'm around.

Arm in arm, we run.
Arm in arm, we land.
Don't let go-
stand.

Take the chance that's waiting.
Don't let fear grind you down.
Support is beneath you.
Take my hand, don't look down.

Arm in arm, we run.
Arm in arm, we land.
Don't let go-
stand.

So tell me those words again,
the last ones that you said.
About how love smothers
and how support has fled.

Arm in arm, we run.
Arm in arm, we land.
Let go-
and stand.

I'm falling to the ground,
to land on broken glass,
stuck with a shattered soul
never meant to last.

Broken in pieces,
glittering on the floor,
a shiny piece of bauble
rotten at the core.

Swept up with the rubble,
thrown away as trash,
it's far too late now
to puzzle the pieces back.

PULL AWAY

Pale hands, pull away
from this steel blade
your blood-stained skin
should not begin
to clot and decay

Pale hands, pull away
from this embrace
it will not mend
a soul broken
only cause it pain

Pale hands, pull away
and let go,
come what may

Deep breaths steady me
into concentration,
banish consuming thoughts.
Deep breaths steady me
into concentration.
So much is crowding my brain. I inhale.
Deep breaths steady me
into concentration.

THE DANCER II

grace walks by
a fluid form wrapped in silk
darkened by a red dye
through so much finery and gilt
peeks one slender thigh
a small glimpse of how one woman is built

upon this foundation is built
an obsession for some simply by
a woman in glitter and gilt
those so preoccupied would die
for a touch of that red silk
for a glimpse of that thigh

that pale glimpse of thigh
lustful eyes have gazed, but nothing is built
on such a whimsical sight and by
morning all the gilt
will be gone and the mystery will die
away with the silk

that dark red silk
to cover a soft thigh
a chaste maiden is rebuilt
the dancer says goodbye
but tucked away lies the gilt
so she will not in whole die

there remains the red dye
and a purchase of silk
so that by
the next dance, a dancer is built
if perhaps not showing quite so much thigh
and still there is no need for guilt

over the seductive gilt
for which men would die
inside the silk
and despite the possibility of a flash of thigh
one woman's courage is built
on the feeling of power as she passes by

++++++

a sense of empowerment has been built
through the layers of silk and gilt
and by a bit of thigh-the dancer does not die

DESIRE

What do you desire,
now that all has been taken away?
A silk cord, thin as a wire,
lies abandoned in the bay.

Now that all has been taken away, 
what is left will be consumed in fire-
to lie abandoned in the bay,
its soul flown higher.

What is left will be consumed in fire,
only a dark stain remains.
Its soul flown higher,
there is no more to say.

Only a dark stain remains
of a silk cord, thin as a wire.
There is no more to say.
What do you desire?

THE DANCER I

Red fabric floats
through air
against skin so fair.
A beauty of which men have wrote
love poems to dote
on such a woman rare,
yet cannot declare
or even quote
a snatch of what was written.
Though they are smitten,
they remain removed from their object of passion.
Here she passes
in a whirl of color through the masses
of dancing fools and their lady lasses,
a spot of color
amidst the taller
of her gentlemen callers,
who has dared to chance
asking for one dance.

BROKEN

I am a stilled and broken thing.
Fingers trace the lines of the jaw,
the curve of an ear, slides
to the nape of the neck, gently
kneading the fragile muscle beneath.
I close my eyes and almost believe
there's someone here.
I don't want to open them.

TWO DREAMERS 

Behind closed eyes lies snow-covered cold, fro-
zen footprints left by a wanderer,
a man caught in someone else's
dream, alone no more.
Two dreamers unite
and dream as one, the
footprints side-by-side in the snow. Dreamers
still dreaming of a crystal-clear field,
their breaths leaving small puffs of air
behind them. And still
they dream, until morn-
ing's light falls on their
flickering eyes-it's
time for the dream
to end.