Roses tend to be rather less roses this way, but hailstones, Nature’s Mafia, convinced you that life would be safer, more bearable, cast in the role of ‘Victim in a Puddle’. You tremble in your cement boots. Extortion always exacts a price, unequally applied. Your grip on reality relaxed and here you lie, ‘She Was a…
Roses tend to be rather less roses this way,
but hailstones, Nature’s Mafia,
convinced you that life would be safer,
more bearable,
cast in the role of ‘Victim in a Puddle’.
You tremble in your cement boots.
Extortion always exacts a price, unequally applied.
Your grip on reality relaxed
and here you lie,
‘She Was a Good Mother’ carved on your tombstone.
Your fall was silent,
a gradual descent into madness,
and only the stars
are witnesses…
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Oh wow–this is brilliant, and really caught me off guard at the end! It’s beautiful–and bears repeated readings.
It may be a little presumptuous to go with a mafioso theme when I live in rural Saskatchewan – but it worked for me! Thank you for the high praise, Caddo. Your opinion means a lot to me.
Dare I confess to a bit of fascination with the Mafia?–it sounds so tawdry–but it’s a culture of such striking contradictions.
You rebel! You probably have a wiffle bat in your closet for breaking some knee-caps! 🙂 *snort*
Oh, you’ve got me snorting too! A wiffle bat–hmmm, maybe I should add that to my arsenal: I have 2 hammers in my nightstand drawer (replaces the handgun I sold last year), but I’m not sure an intruder would cooperate when I say, “wait a sec…”, and fumble in the dark to retrieve my weapons. Ya think??
How good is your menacing Italian accent? ha ha ha ha
Made me think of my mother… Thanks, Melody!
Isn’t it fascinating what words will do in someone else’s heart? That is part of the awe and seduction of poetry, isn’t it?
It sure is. 🙂
Meanwhile, Melody Muses... 
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