Beneath the Surface


To some it is the hidden which always challenges,
an icebergs fascination lies in depths unseen.
Beneath the surface,
this woman intrigues,
her heart, her mind has twist and turns
shrouded paths.
Do you want to know?
To share the secrets behind the window dressing?
Should you be the one to lift the mask?
Or better to stay skidding along the outside, 
satisfied with a skim smile and party chatter…
Do you delve on a whim, a passing affection?
Tread carefully and consider,
tempting as it is to be the wizard behind the curtain,
pull the sleeping worm from the cocoon too early,
and it dies.
Stir up the memory of what emotions were when it was allowed,
when it was safe,
to feel them,
once the shell has been cracked open,
nothing will stop the red blood welling up. 
Will you ride out the storm,
the tidal wave,
and stand with her ready to extend a hand,
to begin the journey back, burn the map
plot a new destination?
Or will you cobble the pieces back together,
smooth the glue,
give a rueful pat,
then turn away?



About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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