The stench of prejudice.

When silent prejudice strikes,
in living rooms with plumped-up sofas,
a quietly insidious venom begins to seep,
into the consciousness of the chattering ones as they sleep.

The beliefs held so true and so deep,
appear stripped of all feeling,
empty and hollow and without compassion,
as the conceit grows in the chests of those with righteous passion.

The prejudice once firmly entrenched,
is worn like a warm and comforting shawl,
needing precious little to compound and to mutate,
into the doctrines of superiority and of aloofness and of hushed hate.

We are all guilty of succumbing to this silent pervasive plague,
as we sip martinis and laugh and shovel more food on our heaving plates,
And as we slip into pleasantly inebriated moments we dare not care,
to smell the stench of hate & prejudice & greed wafting in the cool evening air.

she

she,
remains just out of focus,
an elusive portrait,
etched in the corner of the mind's eye.

she,
sometimes strays into view,
a blurred mirage,
of burnished words cast in indelible dye.

she,
steals fragments of each day,
a welcome thief,
of emotions left in some dusty space.

she,
scatters my poems in the breeze,
an invited spell,
that vanishes into the wind without a trace.

she,
renders me mute and so often blind,
the wild dreamer,
a seeder of impossible thoughts in the mind.

she,
brings the elements of nature to me,
a gentle healer,
she unfolds my thoughts setting them free.

she,
comes and goes as she chooses,
an untamed spirit,
soothing the very place that she bruises.

she,
rouses me in nights of empty slumber,
a murmured breath,
brushing my cheeks with kisses too many to number.

she,
remains to me the enigmatic one,
a burning riddle,
yet she stays with me as each torturous day is done.

she,
my heart knows not why she stays,
my consistent constant,
filling up my nights and consoling my days.

she,
deserves so much more from fate,
the truest soul,
she loves too much and knows not how to hate.

she,
arrives again tonight as i lie awake,
a thoughtful shield,
my coat of armour in a world far too fake.

she,
stays with me and within me stays still,
the true one,
and to dwell deep in my soul is where she always will.

she,
from whose cup i have so greedily drank,
a giver of life,
i have not the words with which to her wholly thank.

she,
knows how desolate a world this can be,
my sustainer of hope,
and of life and of breath is what she will always be.