Engentado Chapter 2: Laura’s Dream

A silent struggle
obscures borders
of comprehension

as I glimpse into
the inundation

of a ceaseless,
dreadful wonder

pregnant with
some vague,
gloppy desire –

always clinging,
never letting go;

even when
the bloodied entrails
have long dried out

and nothing remains
of the physical.

As I watch your body
snatching greedily

at the belated happiness
in my exhaled fascination –

No – my exaltedness
that glimmers,

untold secrets in this
thin stream of air;

a precipitous favour
that only I grant

to the most worthy
of my chosen ones.

Remember, child –
this does not
belong to you.

A molten core,
from which
softly spun threads

of a puppet’s strings
slowly unravel
from my warm breath –

I command you to rise –

as the wings
soon vibrate
with the
tiniest motion…

And the sun,
revealing itself,
scorching glory

and evermore,

puts the
sacred flame
to the silent torches
of its compounded eyes –

where
purple, obsidian, emerald
flames

soon leap from
the bowels of blackest
oblivion.

Now, seek worth in my favour!

A leg twitches,
the flute-like body
stirs.

My hands tremble,
my heartbeat kicks up
a gallop.

A corpulent
bead of sweat,

in which
is distilled
a sweet, fervent
expectation,

slowly leaves
a salty trail
down my face.

But my emptying lungs
can go no further

and soon
the passionate vibrato
of its wings

slow down
to the gentle burr
of a wintry river,

the weak,
uninspired flutter
in the last few seconds
of mechanized life

extinguished,
as my lungs
finally deflate

and the clouds
choose to cruelly

revoke
the sun’s favour
at this exact moment.

The flames
in its eyes
die down to a
perfunctory shimmer,

the livid gaze
of a dead fish’s eyes.

I repeat
this feat again
but its eyes
serve to mock

and fling me
onto the rocks,
watching my silly antics
with a brutish glee

as I shatter into
a thousand pieces,

to be swept away
by that pale little,
wintry stream.

This slight girl that
deigns to scatter
parts of me

to the crows, the volcanoes,
a poor graveyard,
a laughing audience…

But before the waters
can carry
my femur bones
to a rubbish dump –

I’m not that cowardly!

My numb legs
spring to life,
and bring
my bruised body

to its feet

as I brush my hands off,
stuffing my anger
in a glare

at the empty dragonfly husk –

Well, of course!

Tell me –

of what use is an animal,

without the blatant
greed of its own
inherent will –

(Part 1’s over here.)

© Zelda Reville

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