Montage-In The Harrowing Moment of Disillusion
A moment of change and humility, though frightening and sorrowful, still beautiful if one owns the right eye.
Leather armchair, warm and red,
Crooked back against its chest,
Where weary child so silent rests,
To think away his fragile eyes,
Into those of long since dead.
Teary smiles slip into scenes,
Reprieving with the engine’s start,
Staring forward, grounded, sterile,
Remembering something named a heart,
With no thought to what it was for.
Speaking, walking, slow to grin,
Surrounded by the fairies calling,
Thoughtless, smiling, jumping in,
Shaken, breathless, tired, falling,
Suspended, Satan’s solemn singing,
The Savior’s long been winging.
All speech and music sadly ceased,
No words to bid it meaningful,
No rhyme to bid it beautiful…
A final note just rings and rings,
To conflict minds no longer there,
And a child is spared, but soon grows old,
To find the end so near.
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