Strings Of Glass With Beaded Mirrors~

"My mirror, mirror on the wall...
How do we stop the inevitable fall..." asked the Bride

as she tucked the Hanzo blade into its sheath. . . .

"You turn it against the wall~glass side in. . . ." said the girl with the yellow eyes

(those kinds of eyes that reflect the soul backward)

as she took the Bride's delicate hand

pulled her up behind her

into the polished saddle

on the back of a horse the color of dark pearls

deciding then

and there

she would save the Bride by shattering the past

and to hell with all the world

and its animal humanity. . . .

 

. . . .there was a tiny girl in an old bed

somewhere in a meadow

that gave birth to marigolds with blood centers

leaves like razor blades fell from the scales

of the gunmetal sky

so that every time she placed her little feet

against the ground

to escape

the edges cut her to the bone

fragmenting her bit by bit

sectioning her soul . . . .

 

. . . .there was another girl in a tapestry against the skye

who decided to pluck a string from a theory

and tune it to her rage

she flipped out of the night

shifted from her bones

into the solidity of a young prince

and with a tulip in his hand

rolled aside the pleat of this

to flip into the sectioned jewel of that;

the prince came to a meadow

of yellow flowers dripping a girl's blood off their leaves

shedding a girl’s soul off their thorns

he put his lips against a stray atomic particle caught on a pollen fluff

and whispered a secret against her nucleus

charming her into a braided rope of gold

suspended in the blue air. . . .

 

. . . .the girl screamed in the center of the dream

but the prince refused to focus on the unanimal slithering

through knife blades of grass

to eat the child again

and again

instead the prince pressed his determination into his bare feet

as he climbed the golden rope

suspended for his right to unfold the laws of Time

and walked it step by step

to brand

a shape of justice

into the fluctuation of physics

gone haywire

 

. . . .the monster no longer terrified the little girl

she was resigned to his maw digging through her abdomen

to bury his sins between her frail hipbones

she simply laid her body back into the violence

as he leapt over the edge of oak woodwork

to dismantle yet another fragment of her spirit

and wear it in his mind like an ember. . . .

but something happened this time

in midair. . . .

 

. . . .the young prince leapt the last breath from the braided rope

which unfurled

enchanted by the boy who was a woman over there

outside the looking glass

and gave him that last impetus to grab the monster

bite the nape of its neck

and break its back against the footboard of the bed. . . .

 

. . . .the little girl sat up

with eyes of blue so wide

as the boy tore the monster to little shreds of ash and bone

with his hands

ripped its throat out with his teeth

spitting beast fragments against a pane of glass suspended

in a field of marigolds

that bled ink and curlicues of smoke from their centers

 

. . . ."Dead. . . .dead as dreams." whispered the boy

the little girl laughed shards of crystal from her eyes

and shook her golden head, no

consumed the boy up with her iridescent irises of pain

pulling him in

and pushing him through

into a canoe where he was a woman

mourning a Bride

trailing fingertips in warm waters underneath the moon

 

"Mirror. . . .mirror on the wall

sometimes we're designed to fall. . . ." said the Bride with the Hanzo steel

from the waters of the lake

as she wound herself around the fingertips of a woman

who does not cry

but thinks deep and long

on things

this woman who pulled the firefly aspects from the waters

in drops of silver soul

and brought them to her burning lips

to kiss

to taste

to drink

as the Bride spilled her perfume against her tongue

whispering. . . .

 

"S~~~~~, you are the greatest love hidden inside the darkest pain, and the piece of me that I leave here..."

 

. . . .the woman pulled the canoe up onto the shores

her eyes made of silver

her mind made of beaded mirrors

spinning strings of glass

love

pain

pieces of the broken minds

in a tiny box of copper

on a chain of remembrance

between her breasts

asking no one why some survive

while others fall

because suddenly she understood

that there are no answers

only questions

evermore

 

 

 

 

copyright:2010vssmd/pa.inc

All Rights Reserved

 

 

 

excerpt from

 

 

 

 

 

Author's Note

~how do you save the broken dolls when they grow up to be broken women~how do you destroy the monsters that don't live under their beds but in them~how do you catch someone in their intentional fall~ you can't . . . .but you can catch the monster's jaw before it takes its first bite out of the child and sets her or him up for a lifetime of shedding soul until nothing is left~

I won't say anymore on this except that the italicised centered sentence above the last stanza, was in the note she left behind~

Reviews

[Bubo]

I just feel incredible sad..........and you will always bring your reader and wrap them up, taking them somewhere unknown, but oh so known if they reach in and look hard enough.........you are a soul, a soul that I would call a clean soul.........because you are for other's, and feel, see, and taste hurt, but remain clean........I make no sense, but I rarely meet clean souls..........and when I do I treasure them.

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

We are each a mirror, an echo, a bell ... the personification of living hell.

We eat to feed the body and write to feed the soul. Sometimes, I feel as if there's no ending the hunger of the soul.

As always, your writing is magnificent! This particular poem resonates like an ocean of tears.

Linda Marie

[nighttimesnoozer]

would have like to see something more original, like it feels like iv read this over and over from everyone but you made it your own, this is your so ill say good work

[Zackery Alan Daley]

Words cannot even express the uter brilliance, radiance, and emotion that this poem seemingly brings to life right in front of my computer screen. You are one of THE most premiere poet/author I have yet to meet in this world.

[Larry Dyson]

. . . .the monster no longer terrified the little girl
she was resigned to his maw digging through her abdomen
to bury his sins between her frail hipbones
she simply laid her body back into the violence


the way it is for mine and so many if they relive the rape and molestation...a fine line to give something meaningful to...Knowledge...

That sentence reached out above everything else and grabbed me.

"you are the greatest love hidden inside the darkest pain, and the piece of me that I leave here..."

I wish I would have wrote that line, and I hope this isn't considered rude of me, because this seems to be very personal to you. So forgive me if I cross a line.

One line, and it completely captured everything I want from my own writing. It's everything that I try to do, to show beautify in the destruction of life, beauty in it's sweetest but dirtiest of forms, and everything I write, is a little piece of the madness that is inside....a little piece of me...I show on paper instead of being in papers....

Beautifully written, I cannot commend you enough on your imagery and ability to capture ones attention.

[Truman S. Booth]

The String Theory! Lewis Carroll! Snow White! "Animal humanity"! Suicide! Only you could combine these so perfectly, Selene. I haven't been on this site for long--only a few days, really--and everywhere I look, I see something that says "Selene ~ inspires us, she's a goddess, she's brilliant, she's amazing, she's the best!" And I kept thinking, what is so amazing about Selene?

Well... there you go, Truman. Here's your answer, right above this review, which so inadequately expresses how brilliantly, entertainingly, thought provokingly, "magik"ally, heart wrenchingly, confusingly, interdimensionally beautiful this poem is.

You have one more adoring fan, Selene. Well done.

[Emily B]

what an amazing fairy tale!

[PaperDoll]

I love this. Thank you. x

[Dinesh Sairam]

You're the fancy story teller for the next generation. What more can I possibly say after all these reviews?

[Geralyn Miller]

Beautiful and sharp aas the finest swordsmiths's treasure; delicate yet strong; scriven with a delicate tracery of symbols with meaning and calculation for the makers of the weapon/work of art.
Having been the recipient of several notes with , I believe, similar outcomes; my mind tells me I cannot save them all, but my heart makes me try. There is comfort in the fact, some went on to happier lives and never wrote a note that is left behind.
All it takes for evil to win, is for good people to stop fighting it. Keep up the good fight.