Elaria the Circus
Singular in purpose it could have been presumed,
she scrubbed only floors on her knees
and she ran her own fibers into string.
Tedious work in which she was consumed,
seeing to other people’s needs;
but each new daybreak, could fortune bring.
2 Breaking Out
September brought knowledge and books to mind,
she whittled shoes from old planks
to make sandals in style of the bards.
While she listened to tunes and learned how to bind,
imagining climbing the ranks,
she befriended all of the guards.
3 Culinary Art
Vague was in vogue but seasonings couldn’t be dull;
for, to taste was the textbook preparation,
epidemics of flavors to blend.
Admiral, guest of honor with his belly full;
his lips parted only for salvation,
occasion for champagne at shepherd’s end.
4 Career Organism
Collecting in the ledger was every scheme
she’d authored: her own, but no other’s lives;
maintaining separation, encoded.
Verified through lenses, she surrendered her dream
to anyone who’d falter before her, to scrutinize;
to keep her code of conduct devoted.
“Reality is the rudest of mistresses,” she oft said,
yet she’d bow her head to the men who collapsed
into husks before her feet.
“No harm is meant, don’t die; just play dead,”
an instruction to them whose sanity lapsed
when they knew not a heartbeat.
Lessons in speaking outside of tongues,
climbing from outcast to caste hardly known:
shared in crowns of wax stamps.
Letterhead earned, ascending the rungs,
a magnet of envy sucking fame from what sown,
taking liberties to revise under lamps.
7 Disappearing Act
Stepping back to stare through a glass,
immune to any mirror bartered,
she chose silence to ready her fire.
None knew which tests she passed or failed in class,
refusing by all means to be martyred,
disarming all devices with her mire.
8 Minimum Wager
If thought was a sin, she timed herself a plea
so with the hourglass upended,
nobody would stifle her plans.
No gamble could be made with this squalor sea
but desperate men descended,
thoughtlessly casting dice from their hands.
In her ends, no language could deny her sovreignty-
a sea that can’t be bothered,
in threat of tsunami to be crashed through firmament.
No siren can lament like any other with dignity,
knowing what to deny of what offered;
overcoming anguish is one’s own chosen sacrament.
2005-03-31 04:26:28 @305LJ – A. C. Hierarchy