Live Wire

Some days
She will run through you like a live wire,

She will invigorate every fiber of your being,
She will plead with you,
“Wake up!”
She will cry to you, with rust lining her lungs,
“Wake up!”
Choking and sputtering,
Her corrosive voice poses as a quiet reminder--
You are not yet dead to the world.

Some days she is the most skittish, uncertain little question mark
There ever was.
Her brittle bones threaten to dissipate
Beneath unyielding concrete.
It weighs down, compressing her--
She lies helplessly.
She cannot breathe; her lungs are too far cemented into her chest.

“Wake up!”
You will plead to her,
You will try to make your words flow through her,
Reanimate her,
Electrify her.

But some days
She will run through you like a live wire.

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allets's picture

The Inigmatic "She"

Big poem, tiny print though. Under concrete - buried - I keep thinking of LeStat during the daylight hours. Intricate fem images - well woven and interest riveting ~Star~