Serpentine

A poem with dreams, a metaphor, and a girl.

Serpentine

 

I told you once of a dream I had

Night after night, sliding into my mind

Snakes that made me tremble in fear

Languidly drifting from scene to scene

 

When you asked “how many”, I told you

“Just one,”

               “Different ones?”

                                      “Does it matter?”

In the corner of my eye, you smiled

“Listen to me, here’s what it means”

 

“The serpent’s a woman, her age is unknown,

It’s her that you fear, not the snake…

She slips into your mind when you’re unaware

And your dreams want to tell you, ‘You ought to stay clear.’”

 

If you had suggested - if I had known

That the woman we spoke of was you

I think even now, we’d both be surprised

That you could be one of that kind.

 

But the susurrus whispers

Carry truth to my ears

How you would side-step my trust

And the love that we've had

 

How could you, I wonder, at home, to myself

Tell tales that were never yours to be told?

Baring my life to the ears of near strangers

Dismissing my virtue, disrespecting my heart.

 

My pain was never yours to carry

You helped me to bear it, to stand, to move on

But now darts your tongue, in free castigation!

While the pillar I’ve placed you on crumbles apart.

 

 So now, when I know, I wonder “what next?”

Do I hold you, forgive you, forget and move on?

Knowing each flower that moves on the wind

Shouldn’t prepare me to love, but alert me to danger?

 

Or follow my mind, eschewing my soul,

And leave you behind, “my mistake”;

A flickering face to remember one day

As I sit and regret, grey and old?

Or shall I confront you, with fierce words and ire,

Metaphorically place you on coals

Or dad-like, whisper, in sad disappointment,

“Tell me, what can you say for yourself?”

 

This time, I think, I’ll do what I ought to

I.e. prise myself from your crushing embrace

Leaving you free to crawl back to your meadow

Crouched 'neath your flower, waiting for prey

 

But know this, my dear, as the years pass you by,

When you find yourself coiled ‘round another weak flame

The sputtering ember of some nameless swift passion

In a series of young lads who all look the same:

 

I knew that I loved you, both truly and deep

Romantic and friendly, in ways

And here, ‘round my fire, you’d have been able to keep

Warm, safe, and happy, always.