At The Foot Of The Massif

At The Foot Of The Massif

 

 

I lay at the foot of an impossible massif

No hope or charity to spare

What could I offer, except a kindhearted kiss?

Fear not, onlookers and magistrates, you do not frighten me.

I cast my uncertainties aside to part that one solitary trade.

Would you take it, if I offered?

The solution is clear, as the sun is across raindrops, it is clear.

 

The beating, a heart. No more.

Neither death nor ceases; only fantasy, cast at the foot of the massif.

Not coin to bear or barter, only affection misplaced, misguided!

Take of it what you will, my chest an open souk, plunge plunder and pull all that you desire.

You would take it, had I not offered it.

The solution is clear, as the moon slits through clouds, it is clear.

 

Storm, storm! Take me and all you abhor; use me a puppet for your will.

I am of cloth and twine, and naught more, though at my epicenter, you will find these pages.

For what are we? If not material; like bone is rag, like flesh is straw, are we all just dolls?

Neither would take it, not you nor I; if we offered it to each other.

The solution is clear, as the candle in the dark, it is clear, standing at the foot of the massif.