Poussin F – Fabrice Poussin

  Faces in Cages
 
Moving across strange ethers faces
in cages they seem out of place.
 
They flash, passers-by in a rush
destinies in the dark await.
 
Behind them a cloud of grey hovers
pieces of souls they will never be.
 
Speeding at the command of a light
they make eerie sounds to signal lives.
 
They belong somewhere in time
racing to achieve an ephemeral meaning.
 
I see but will not recall them nor an aura
nor a smile nor a touch of gloom.
 
Illusions of apparitions ghastly as ghosts
they race to their custom-made precipices.
 
It is an everlasting carnival of worker ants
on roads made of dirt made of stone.
 
Origins the same destinies without mystery
yet they continue within their private glass bowl.
 
Full of color rainbow in the eye of the observer
so pale within, they might have crossed into the abyss.
 
Faces in cages captives of their own invented prisons
they go without a thought to mere oblivion.
 
 
 
His daddy’s old mirror
 
Sometimes he sheds a piece of his old chagrin
with a thought to the father of all his glee
the remembrance of a taste so long forgotten.
 
sometimes he looks into his daddy’s old mirror.
 
Nothing has changed and he ponders why
there was a cake once, yesterday or long ago
when he saw the dusk on a whole decade.
 
why the excitement tingles deep within yet.
 
He knows he has dumbed many a blade
worn quite a few more of the working blues
scraped the skin, watched the clean blood pour
and see it come to life again, ten years old still.
 
He wonders now, alone in a world of close knit kin
a child yet as he steps into his magic sled to the city
at the lady who time after time tenders a discount
to the one who giggles at the last trick played on his daddy.
 
 
If only you would cry
 
If only once you would shed a lonely tear
so I may cup my hand in a pale chalice
and gather as a treasure the words of a pain
always unspoken in foolish bravery.


If only once your breast heaved in a sob
so I may place my somber palm upon your heart
and make it come alive with a quick jolt
although perhaps you would rather sleep.
 
If only once your lips cried a whisper of agony
so I may venture a warm kiss onto your soul
and tell you comforting tales of universal sorrow
but perhaps you dare not live another hope.
 
If only once your eyes pleaded for a hand
so I may be the one to entrust you with a life
and confess that there is no greater pleasure
but to give you sunshine when your night prevails.
 

Fabrice Poussin teaches French and English at Shorter University. Author of novels and poetry, his work has appeared in Kestrel, Symposium, The Chimes, and many other magazines. His photography has been published in The Front Porch Review, the San Pedro River Review as well as other publications. 

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