The Glass Jar
Here with me is a glass jar,
my tall, unmoving, fragile guard.
I lay within as its captive audience,
watching the world around unfurl.
From its sturdy and callous hold,
I see the madness that unfolds:
the tempestuous nature of hearts
laid bare with not a single cloth.
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The phenomenon of the heart,
given the power to mend and rend.
But I remain in the glass jar,
with no need for any of them.
Threadless, they share each other’s warmth;
Two candle lights burning bright,
the fires melting and melding their wax,
until one goes out first, the other one next.
From here, I see their trysts,
where skin, tongue and juices mix
that end in a maelstrom of fury,
leaving only a broken promise
that cuts through and spills the guts,
the intestines endlessly flowing within
