In the pretty house
Wrath waited
on his knife – balancing,
Festering.
Demanding Release
inside
children played;
rehearsing their
faint pirouettes, their
silent dance steps - on daggers -
polishing pain into love
tenderly tucking away scars
in between breaths,
and nurturing gardens
through tears.
Till the dance steps went wrong
and Rage came to play
seized Fistfuls of hair
Hurled Venom
Grinned Razors
Cackled Disgrace
and slipped back on his knife
satiated
for now
Quietly,
quietly
they tuck away scars
watered gardens
with tears
and polished the pain
till it shone
then borrowing a cloud from the sky
enveloping themselves
until it was time
to dancing again.
