Ritual
She held out her hand in a gesture of conciliation
Forced to admit the inevitable
Squire runs through the meadow with a message
Delivered to the grandmother with sharp teeth
She in the red cloak is approaching
Filled with the idealism of youth
Ready for any predator
Worth his salt at deception
Conquests are indicated by opportunities lost
Like a French maiden wrapped in the flag
Lust like a chamber of horrors
Fanning the flame of someone else’s desire
Shattered upon the sidewalk
Unable to move, unable to feel remorse
Cannibals everywhere tearing apart
What was left of the childhood dream
I awaken and suddenly remember
Where I am and how I want to be
I cannot feel
I am numb.
Michael Krasowitz
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