Man of Hate

What turns a man to hate
and wither gentle feelings long forgot?

Does he hold within him
seeds of evil
germinated by weathering storms
of poverty,
oppression,
hate?

What turns the smiling boy
into a man of
blood and bombs,
that incendiary malice
fanning the fires
of infected hearts?

Do fiendish thoughts
and actions
lie in wait
to trap the disillusioned
trapped?

When did hungry tears
turn to course down
pain weathered cheeks
and drip on malice ridden
words?

What might have stemmed
the bitter tide,
and would we
have built the dam?

©Eleanor Clark
2 May 2011

untitled - 8 January 2011

Roles we wear

Discarded

At moments notice

On bedroom chairs and floors

Leader

Lover

Traitor

Friend

Mother

Daughter

Cowherd

King

Who are we really

in this 3-D contraption

called skin?

©Eleanor Clark

8 January 2011

To Belong

I laugh with them

They listen. I listen.

I can touch them; hug them.

We know each other.

Why am I still on the outside?

I get up to go to the bathroom

and catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror.

This is why.

I want to belong

I want to share more than stories

I thought we had.

Every time I see my reflection

I remember again.

This is me.

Do I need to forget?

But I choose to remember.

And we share more than stories.

And I don't belong.

And they don't belong.

And it's ok.

©Eleanor Clark

3 October 2010

untitled - 1 November 2009

how can I not love you?
impossible to deny my heart this blissful ecstasy,
the static spark lights the darkness
in my soul when we touch
– you make me alive –
beautiful irony to get what I want – but
not expecting how dreadful and good it could be,
to love you more each passing hour
is the wish of my heart, my soul breathing,
beating to your sweet memory,
to revel in these sweet moments and forget
the heaving heartbreak
almost inevitable to come.
©eleanor clark

1 November 2009