JOEY’S POEM: PART 1

And what will today bring…? Too cold or too early to hear the birds sing- even IF they did, would their melody incite or ring any memory, any recall, of ANY joyous thing..?

Would he be overcome with flashings mental of dear mother or could instead he be assaulted by what favors her, yet is other..? Waiting, oh, just waiting, for the reunion with his aquatic-hued brother, the red one sits… A stoic, through and through- through yet another-

Day composed of monotony, torture, beyond missing; longing, pining… Avoiding the mirror, and the pictures, so dear, running far from the reminding

But it more than seems that even within his dreams, they

Are

EV-

ERYWHERE

Even if he pulled his own heart from his very chest, he couldn’t circumvent the emotions that dwell there

She wrote of loss, but didn’t even come close- HER pain paling so minimally beside this… Not even a shadow to drift behind his trail of blood, even the elixir couldn’t fix: Mother’s kiss

So he trudges along, murderous rage breeding within, writhing, yearning to be set free, wondering solemnly, sullenly, solidly; “Can ANYone, at all, AT ALL, AT ALL!

EVEN

SEE

ME…?!”

When we speak of pain, it’s an absolute JOKE- it’s a stubbed toe, it is the needle’s poke

His is the constant stabbing of the torrid fire stoke, the femur that compounded, and through the flesh, broke

And he’s COLD…

Not outwardly, but intrinsically COLD- 37, yet thousands and thousands of years old, HE is the story still screaming to be told, but he STANDS

The remaining pillar that his sister demands, capable and calloused from what work commands melding with malice and love; strong and gentle, fatherly hands

He is two-toned, in more ways than one, and he has been so since the day he had begun;

Those who belong to him, he keeps from coming completely undone

But some words of warning to the ones who cross:

RUN, RABBITS, RUN