Title: July 1959
One day we will meet at Olathe's Jewel;
early morning, the town still ruby red.
The young in deep slumber,
The old corroding in accustomed scorn.
But not us.
We have won the race against ourselves and the sun.
Twin black coffees on the table, the steam embracing us
like an old friend.
Waitress Suzanna, her curious eyes.
I cannot discern -
could they be looking at you or the newly sun-adorned sky?
Tranquil air perforated, only by your voice:
"Some piece of work, ain't she,"
And Suzanna disappears, a troubled apparition,
behind a tattered white curtain.
Now the only eyes I'm left with are yours,
So serpentine in nature, dissonant
Yet they hold more heat and colour than the mid-summer morn outside.
Serpents inflamed, they find
there is no way out.
Had they asked Him for hands they would be able to open the door;
Had they asked for a mouth, a tounge or teeth,
perhaps with banshee screams they may alert another to assist them.
Still the serpents would understand with time –
the aid of divine intervention is just past the stars,
entirely out of reach.
"What will be left of us?" they ponder,
It is the soil beneath them, its arms cold and unwelcoming.
But a home is a home, no matter how desolate.
Title: Rage Personified