the taste of honey

brittle frame stands with the purity of a 
close friend 
earthworm crawls slow to escape blindness
she follows her instincts into a wood
to search
has the eyes, but no tears falling,
the bear has no soul
piping hot soup in the fireplace kettle boil,
empty chair at a table
her superstitious mother reads from the holy book
the father, coal mining black lung disease,
carried the pick ax like a jesuit
priest carried a cross,
canary, carried in a gilded cage;
“our child should be restricted, snuff out her light”
mouse runs lucid with moldy cheese
from an unset mousetrap
the father, breathes without a breath
she follows the path between self love
and awareness
her family life is a trough, her awakening, a peak
the mother serves soup with pictures of bread
cut out from an old magazine
the father, collapses like weak coal tunnel lumber,
no money to pay for a doctor
the child’s bare feet make no sound,
she does not walk into temptation;
she is edged with mist from 
a new dawn
light enters, she does not garish the sun,
her mother closes the room dark
her father ceases to exist,
the bear tastes the honey.
Copyright © 04/06/2013 Ðark Ṝoasted Ƣoetry®

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