Ravenous, inspiration finds me. Hidden deep beneath the ice of yesterday’s tears, Bête Noire skillfully hunts its prey. I huddle still, frozen by my terror of the words themselves, and it smells my fear. Teeth of raw emotion tear at my heart. Jaws of painful memory grind the bits of rended flesh. I cry out in anguish, and my tears flow from my fingertips.
Sated, inspiration abandons me. My trembling husk is consumed from within. Numb consolation stares back at me from the page, the words spilled upon it beating with the essence of my ravaged heart. Grim satisfaction offers me peace, but I no longer have a place to put it. So I sit shivering in the liquid passion that frozen could not save me.
passion finds my heart
the wall of ice drips away
leaves a pool of tears
© 2013 Anne Schilde