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THE TORTISE, THE HAIR, HARE AND THE MOTH
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LYNN You were a hare in my life...
Dashing so fast, you overturned my house.
Now I lie upside down in my shell,
Baking in the hot August sun.
And you have been that hair,
That annoying hair that will not leave my jacket.
That tells everyone you were my mistress.
That does everything but bare evidence of your brutality.
How do you do it,
Believe in something that hurts everyone?
How do you keep lying and keeping up the games...
That if I know it torments me...
It has to torment your mother.
To be helpless to your problem, to your needs.
To constantly let things go in one ear and out the other...
Never knowing how much is real,
Until you do say that the disease you have,
Actually kills you.
You've been engaged in genocide against children...
Born out of creativity,
Instead of concieved out of the physical depths of love.
How many have you killed so far?
People praying for you...for the babies...
That don't exist.
We have hearts that care for you, your unborn children,
We may care for them and you, more than you do...
In our minds you have made the children real to us.
You have just used them for another ploy for attention...
And when things don't go your way...
It was just another mis-carraige.
That you grief for a couple of weeks, and go on.
Meanwhile, we are left stammering, gaping in horror--
Where do we burry the dead?
You are used to the cemetary in your mind...
But we need the closure...a physical end,
To what we believed was a physical beginning.
You are a hare,
So fast that your own shadow scares you...
Why does it reflect what you truely are...
Just that, a cold, empty shadow?
And go on and be that hair,
Someway, someday, we will find a way to excise you...
And you will see the menace of the flame.
How your torched our lives,
You too will be cinged.
One day, someone will not buy into your rhetoric anymore.
They will find you and settle a score...
Evening the odds for all of us who couldn't.
Dead men tell no lies.
Either that or you will eventually be drawn,
Pulled like a magnet to something stronger than you.
You will burn with a passion and desire for another.
And they will suck you in...
Like a tenuous band,
Pulling the moth to the flame.
