Photo by: Chris Langton
Hairs stand golden,
glistening bristles on your face and
neck;
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
wound;
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.
No comments:
Post a Comment
One Art, to recognize, must be,
Another Art to Praise.
- Emily Dickinson