Bread and Circuses

My window flickers off and on

Subtle pixels of iridescent light

Twisting and contorting

I sway in their plight

To escape the tangled web of enigma

That bleeds streams of opaque honey

We souls were forbidden to taste

Our conscience knows this is not the way

So it prays to God for an hour of understanding

While my eyes wail for their scorched sockets

Dancing are the chorus amid cascading smoke

An antidote or distraction? 

The window pane has two sides

One which I am incapable of entering

Drooling for the sweet feast it displays

I lap at the bland glass

Hardly a feast

Hardly nothing

I continue anyway 

Since stale bread was better than starvation

Fingers were lost in an excuse to tell time

Those poor maidens with no limb for rings

The lion breathes vows to roar into the silence

We praise the windows that lull us into paralysis

The lion’s cubs do tricks on the bleak pavements

Flinging gaunt mice to the crowds famished lips

We reap the hazy glee of alliances not knowing

That behind their flaming flanks

Rests plump bucks of rich meat 

Caught from their claws

Skinned and left to rot

To fashion a coat for the puppeteer

That holds us in suspension 

Craving the window pane 

That strips our eyes of shutters 

And not its reflection 

Dangling from the hook 

Of the mirage of false representation

Wrists stained from the chains

Yet we still swaddle the shimmering apperception 

When the wolf resists humanity 

More frequent it is cornered to be tamed

Only a savage dog sports a leash 

The obedient are liberated of everything but free will

Their silence is deafening 

Crumbling in this bubble of terror and division

And quarreled with the nausea that rises within

Keys used to float beyond the stiff walls

I gaze at the door I used to shut them out

Buried from their skin of brass spikes

Thinking more anguish would arise if I let them in

I fumble with the knob on the door

Hands fizzing from their dormant rest 

The air thickens and I melt inwards

Gasping for release

Under a sliver of a crack

Longing for brass spikes 

Maybe I’d feel something 

We kiss the mouth that bites us 

In hope that the taste of their lips 

Will make up for the venom that laces the tips of their teeth

But the venom that soon enough 

Will be the very sickening thing we crave

The window is the true eternal spectator 

It will watch us dig crescents of insidious lies into our palms

As we wail for a substitute for our disintegrating future

Are we to blame for setting ourselves aflame to feel an inch of warmth?

But that wasn’t a window we hailed king

For Windows shatter and fog 

Like our clouded minds and beating hearts

Their shards are what made our scars

And what we use to scar them back

For Windows are laced with opportunity

That spark both uncertainty and interest

Isolating and instilling a virtuous reflection 

Of what roams outside the boundaries that hold us captive

When the hour chimes and you lift the latch to open

Or crush it into smithereens 

The Window will greet you with a parallel scene

That you feared so greatly would burn your skin

To see the same sun

And feel its beams

The realization that the Window of both pain and pleasure

Was worth more than any diluted fantasy could supply

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