Saturday, September 22, 2012

110. Wild Child

Photo by: Chris Langton

Hairs stand golden,
glistening bristles on your face and
there is a certain danger,
exotic recklessness
drawing me to you.
I am afraid of you, and
enamoured of you;
I am your predator,
I am your victim.

Wild child;
cannot be tamed, must be put far away.
Lions in their cages
do not bite;
tigers in captivity do not

Wild child,
I love you.
But it is a far more
lethal beast
unleashed in me,
all-consuming, powerful,
which would ruin me.

Stay away, oh
wild child,
you are a foreign beast;
I must keep you to those who
know you well,
while I regard at a distance,
hesitant, curiously.

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One Art, to recognize, must be,
Another Art to Praise.

- Emily Dickinson