It was a contract carefully crafted,
Words eloquently drafted,
Drawn up on paper pressed from the flesh
Of the twisted dogwood tree.
An old soul would smell the sour stench
Of splinters ripe with the curse of the risen.
But not this soul.. this soul was too new.
She was freshly spawned, senses pale,
Untouched by the moon, untainted by the sun
Her purpose not yet refined.
The path of her life not yet defined
The bitter truth of language and love
Not yet revealed in her mind.
She was innocent of the wicked way of words
The perfect target.
Promises on the page danced like firefly light
Across her eager eyes
It was riddled with absolutes.
Always, everything, anything.. forever.
Nothing in the fine print but the scent of a flower.
No reason to be wary, no cause for concern.
A simple transaction
Negotiated over a clever distraction.
He shined his light on the dotted line
So she could sign using blue/grey ink
Extracted from the iris of her eyes.
And sign she did, happily
Vowing to forego love’s sweet fires
For easy access to all her other hearts desires..
A fair deal?
Perhaps in the mind of one so green
So unopened, so not yet discovered.
But ask again as years unfold
Ask again after loneliness has taken its toll.
The young soul learns about words and grows old
Experience, a relentless taskmistress
Endlessly fine tuning one’s senses to every spectrum.
But the parchment does not share her fate
Crisp as the day it was cut
Ink on the page, unaltered, unfaded
Words written once remain the same.
Their injustice hidden in plain sight
The truth in their meaning revealed only by time
Always, everything, anything.. Ask the dogwood.
There is no justice in forever.