Where Silver Tears Do Rust
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Prologue to "The Harvest "
I cherish not, the moment when I escaped your passion.
Alas, I knew that I would return.
My mentor, innocence was sacrificed while in the presence of your hunger.
While gathering small bits of wisdom that you left scattered upon my pillow, my spirit heaved with loathing for you.
The scent of your illness hung in my mind like the rust colored cloud that shrouds the cityscape at dusk.
Obscuring the vision of self, I was but a child.
Alone, but for the fear that you offered to me that was disguised as a smile, I hid in the shadow of my childhood.
Now grown, I don a veil of translucent sorrow.
The seeds, the tiny bits of wisdom that I had gathered as a child, were sown, implanted in my subconscious.
During the moments, years and decades of my learning, they were watered with the torrential rains of abuse, and ignorance that were sustained by my physical and spiritual being.
Were you not aware that I would someday harvest the crop of lies, fear, pain and loss of self that you did plant in my memory?
None too soon,
the day of the harvest has come…
L.A.McNabb
22 March, 2005
Copyright © 2005 Lori Ann Mc Nabb, All Rights Reserved
Alas, I knew that I would return.
My mentor, innocence was sacrificed while in the presence of your hunger.
While gathering small bits of wisdom that you left scattered upon my pillow, my spirit heaved with loathing for you.
The scent of your illness hung in my mind like the rust colored cloud that shrouds the cityscape at dusk.
Obscuring the vision of self, I was but a child.
Alone, but for the fear that you offered to me that was disguised as a smile, I hid in the shadow of my childhood.
Now grown, I don a veil of translucent sorrow.
The seeds, the tiny bits of wisdom that I had gathered as a child, were sown, implanted in my subconscious.
During the moments, years and decades of my learning, they were watered with the torrential rains of abuse, and ignorance that were sustained by my physical and spiritual being.
Were you not aware that I would someday harvest the crop of lies, fear, pain and loss of self that you did plant in my memory?
None too soon,
the day of the harvest has come…
L.A.McNabb
22 March, 2005
Copyright © 2005 Lori Ann Mc Nabb, All Rights Reserved
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Prologue to `The Harvest `
Prologue to `The Harvest `