HUMAN RELATIONSHIPS.

Eva Bell.

All human relationships are evanescent;

They come and go

With the ebb and flow of time;

Intangible ties

That for a brief interlude,

Grip the soul in a madness oh so heady!

Then mellow into memories,

Or like yesterday's dreams,

Fade into nothingness.

HOPE.

It isn't warm inside these crumbling walls;

At night the vagrant wind

Rattles the threadbare thatch

And raindrops drip upon my pillow;

I lie awake, my bowels shrieking

For a morsel of bread;

My limbs shiver, kindling warmth

In emaciated bones;

But with the dawn, a ray of sunshine

Dispels the dismal gloom of night;

Somewhere outside, another dawn is breaking,

And in my forlorn breast, Hope is awaking.

TEENAGE CAPERS.

Teenage! Sheer bliss to be alive,

To soar like eager fledglings

Into unknown realms of desire;

How can they scale the stars

When they have barely learnt to walk?

They come with bleeding pinions, broken wings

Pale face, eyes downcast;

You hasten to their aid, lest

They hurt themselves in mad despair.

Teenage! Invincible and free!

Revived, their wings feel stronger;

Their bruises mended, strange quickenings;

New hopes, new dreams, the Universe to conquer;

Skywards they soar again,

Will they return once more in pain,

Disenchanted and bereft of their youth?

CHILD PROSTITUTE

Imprisoned by the snare of lustful flesh,

You struggle fragile bird,

Your youthful frame

Ravaged by bestial desires,

Your virgin bosom

Caressed by the ugly talons

Of lecherous passion,

Leaving behind indelible scars

On your jaded innocence.

Run child, Break free

From Man's depravity

Lurking at every street corner,

With crafty intent;

Shed those gaudy garments of your trade,

Pursed lips and painted cheeks;

Retrieve your soul from the highway to hell.

For when you grow up

You will perchance

Know the joy of true love.

HANDS

The swiftness of your hands

That move in harmony with mind and eye,

The incredible fineness of each stroke

Have I not watched with joy!

Yet hands are not mere tools

Created to dispense each day

The chores that one must do,

Hands speak a language of their own

Expressive in a way.

The middle finger bent to form a hook,

The index short and straight – both tips

Held together in mute support;

The one of shyness speaks, reserved in temperament,

The other, quick to flare into a rage

If crossed – and woe betide who dare

Ignite the flames of wrath.

If gestures tell their tale, then creases

Etched upon the palm

Disclose strange traits of character,

And somewhere in the tangle of those lines

The streak of Destiny defines

One's meteoric rise to fame

Or sad decline into oblivion!

WINTER YEARS.

Only yesterday

The forest nestled

Under stretches of Autumn gold;

Today, stripped down

Naked and shivering against a wintry sky

The trees are desolate and cold.

Was it only yesterday,

Poised on the pinnacle of life

I stood smiling down,

Smug, satisfied –

The fawning, cheering crowds around?

Now old age –

And bereft of lofty dreams and

Flattering friends,

Alone I wait,

My slow inevitable end.