I tempted with the tenderloin of fate
and now I am in need of a loan

A self I am not,
A self I can look to.

He is an ever fixed croak,
He rests not till his bones are picked,

I tempted with the forbidden,

And the lady is missing from the pantry of mysteries.
Taboo is the potion I must drink for my portion,
Ridicule is the sauce of the meal I must scoff down.
He is in the meantime camouflaged by the
Tides in my tummy.
Sniggering at my every spin of pain

What is the Key?
Where is it hidden?

So I can unlock the door, so tightly shut
…With a face so so narrow and dark.

Ahead awaits the light…

In the meantime,
I search my head for the sense of meaning
So I can face this…
I search my heart for the palm of bravery
To carry me through…

Maybe I will find the alchemist who will turn
Poison into powders of gold,
Scoff into praises and
Reflection into warm light…
…and in the midst of it all
Hopefully I will be able to wrench my feet out of the mud…
And escape from his grip…
Landing into the room of dreams baked at home…

Ps: what is abnormal, I did what is taboo…how strange the face of ModernDay notions; that a women fights convention…with no manual to guide her through…

Zhamour Monday March2, 2009

Posted by at 11:07 AM

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s