there are those

who know only sunlight

it reflects from the silver spoons

from which they slurp their coddled cream

they are insulated from all pain

by their silk lined ermine wrappings

residual misery absorbed by underlings

assiduous under rug sweepers

leaving them bereft

of moral compass

merest crumbs of compassion.

they are blind,

these sun-dwellers,

having gazed for hours interminable

in fawning rhapsody

upon their own bedazzled

countenances

vision blurred

by lack of focus

glancing solely upon pageantry

rhinestone Rodeo rodeos.

 

my friends, these are not

our vistas. we have careened

brakeless down curvaceous

Sunset Boulevard

– or strutted braless –

quaffing the air’s despair

in great desperate gulps

while our demons

take the wheel.

we have licked the salts of mercury

briny from tormented eyes

with our tongues of fire

tasting essence of fear

and redemption only the night

can portend.  we have crawled

stripped and wounded

through the rancid tunnels

of our world’s underbelly

skittering from hants

and happenings. we have

discovered ourselves the sideshow

-artists eaten by their own starving souls

get your tickets here! –

witnessed the hordes of cynics

buy tickets to the noire feast

cancelled the show

with our stand up sit in.

we have been downtrodden

dejected and depressed

yet Angelou-ic we have risen

risen and risen yet again.

you and I, comrades,

we were meant to know the night.

from the depths of deepest

deprivation and depravity

we scavenged priceless gems.

greatest of these, I submit,

a luminous diamond chip:

in the darkest of moments

the light from a kind heart

mimics a trick birthday candle.

you think omnipotent monsters

have finally blown it out

and it flickers – pale and guttering-

yet it flickers

back to life.

---

Aurora Phoenix is a wordsmithing oxymoron. Staid suburbanite cloaks a badass warrior wielding weapon grade phrases. Read more of her confabulations at Insights from “Inside”