Recoil

Our blue-green home pulses life,
Blooms of plankton sea-titans feed,
And pollens and bees each compound,
The living dreams of beast and seed,
Exuding artistry — lavish in excess.
Yet, trembling — aware of fragile need,
Every cell draws a breath.

With gifts of rain and sod and air,
And eyes that crinkle in the sun,
With kin, we laugh, and tell stories,
Yet still cringe at what we become,
Like a bird that flutters from a hand
Offering seed — it's hunger will shun.
Every soul knows its fear.

And while we could but live for love,
Our kind craves the poverty of power,
Pulsing the blood of seraphs and satans,
Our love is lust, as we long to tower
Uber-strong over quiet kindred souls;
Though graced, firmly return a glower.
Everyone by tooth and claw.

And I too, like a dog with lowered tail,
Will test and doubt the stranger's hand.
Though every crystal revealed as light
From water, my blue-grey orbs will brand,
Betrays such love that fires each life,
Each dream, each place, each grain of sand.
Everything yet in strange recoil.

Penitent,
Confession.