I wait for Emily in white.
I cannot love them all,
I can only love part of myself.
My heels scuff along those drafty cracks along the wooden slats.
Opposing my own nature, I resist the chemicals in my blood,
I find no comfort in capital.
Take the hammers, sledges and saws, search on,
Look for the warmth that is there.
Go look on the blood splattered altars of Leviticus,
Go among the concubines and eyes for eyes,
Go, look for them, faded as pink as the scars from eons of treading,
They hide like grapes beneath their phalanx of leaves,
I search with my tongue, the progeny they protect,
They urge to press on, urging more to move on.
Look for comfort there
It is there,
Always moving along.
By Ronald Rabenold - Sept 2010
|Acrylic by Randolph Rabenold (my Dad)- Late 1950s|
Thank you Dad for your gift of your own kind of expression. You're one of a kind.