Wednesday, April 22, 2009

PAD 22

Two Jobs

For one,

I dress down.
Comfort is required
before unsheathing pen
to strip flesh from bone
and transform it.

My voice goes raw.
I howl,
fanning
this little life
into an explosion.
Thus am I nourished,
soul fed.

For the other,

I polish and adorn,
confine myself among
regal robes.
I am the guardian of
lace and pearls.
Crystals and satin
flow through my fingers.
I speak with
the cultured voice
of hope observed.

The mistress of
evolving ritual,
I am drained.
Thus I earn my daily bread.

Today's prompt was work.

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1 Comments:

Blogger Magdalene6127 said...

This is fantastic, Cynthia. really evocative...

April 23, 2009 9:24 PM  

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