Impala

Impala

Oh, but I was ugly,
But it had to be done,
It had gone on too, too long,
I had let it persist,
And it grew like a thorny vine,
Like a weed,
A dandelion in the garden,
I ignored it.
But then again,
It was just a taste,
A mere smidgeon,
A speckle on a robin's egg,
An egg in the basket,
Waiting to be cracked open,
And spread upon her head.

Upon her cross she crawled,
As she had done so many times before,
Glaring down upon me,
Her head cocked to the side,
Like the chicken that laid that egg.
No, she wasn't the martyr.
She was the self-appointed,
The messiah in her mind,
She was the hunter in the stars,
Brandishing her arrows,
And releasing them unto her prey.
But tonight,
I was the impala,
Changing direction with its heartbeat,
Drifting left,
Dodging right,
Jumping over reed,
Through valley and over stream,
Away from the snapping jaws,
Of the lioness and her pride.


 Invino Veritas
2/5/13

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