but I am wicked

“but I am wicked”: I tell him and he roars
in laughter, the sky sheds silver lights
and marigolds sweep away the stench
of my embarrassing gait, I see through
the hysterical haze, to miss the worlds
of yesterday, a remiss creeper binding
me into the shrubbery devoid of sight.

to be able to speak or to be mum, to
file a memory into my eyes like a rich
embroidery woven, or to defile desires
that have a demurring allure to them,
I, he can not feel my pulse, metrical to
the sound of his voice, I repulse him
by the veracity of this hollow heart.

he is the me of days gone, yet to come.

*For With Real Toads.

Image source (“The Good Fight” by Scott Saw)

Evolution

The evolution of a being

from the childhood’s reverie

to a grown up’s veracity

from the glimmer of the stars

to the blaze of the sun

from a small injury

to a large gaping wound

from an innocent vision

to a gruesome deed

from the world of truth

to the universe of tall tales

from a fresh water lake

to the ever salty ocean

from the protection of the nest

to the vast lonely sky

from a seed that is sown

to a pest infected plant

from the drop of nectar

to an urn of venom,

the evolution of an infant

to a grown up soul

tarnished by world

shaded by emotions

from the afternoon nap

to the insomniac nights

from the playful toys

to the killer weapons,

there is an evolution

a real evolution

of a spirit as he turns

from a joyful mirth

to an evil sneer in the end.

* Written in response of Theme Thursday Writing Prompt.