The Seasons hold no sway over you

You are neither too cold nor too warm

You grew in place like a pure crystal

Incrementally, suddenly present

All glory and facets, set and certain

 

People are afraid to give you gifts

Of conversation, of fellowship

Quiet, they walk around you

Like a Monet at the art museum

 

They suspect pheromones

Something unseen, unfelt, collaborating

With you to control the small events

That revolve about you, orbiting at a distance, like bees

While yourselves tend to matters of importance

 

Casual cruelty leaks from you like oil

We slip in it, it soils our souls and creates

Your new rendition, blistering and raw

Your only value the coin of command,

Your authority the lost childhood knife

 

Allowing only one riposte before

Slashing through a mother’s weeds

Curiously pretty flowers will stay a week, a month

And go down like the Sun on a dreadful day.

 

©2107 eolon