It starts here.
What he sees is a throne.
Scarlet bright, with a backdrop of gold.
Polished arms, and a cushion of velvet.
What he sees is a goddess.
Pale soft, with a sheen of peach.
Bronze hair, and a shining crown.
What he sees is a beauty.
Smile light, with a loving eye.
Gift accepted, and a hand extended.
It starts here.
Walking backwards.
A broken reminder of a broken life.
No face to show.
Look, his legs can’t hold him and he
falls.
A mocking crookedness in the straight limbs
reminds him a small child in a bright dress
she balances her laugh on the three legs
and in her triumph
falls.
His hands are cold. Dead eyes and
lonely soul with no reminder. Remainder
not even whole.
His spark fires and he stands.
Behind him, with nothing to hold it,
the chair totters, and
falls.
