Flutter

Opening eyes

with eyelashes that flutter as wings,

lifting off to new pedals,

revealing irises and morning glories,

are without reason to see.

 

Listening ears

tunneling deep,

twitching at echoes

too far gone and too muddy

are materialistic without purpose to sound.

 

Lithe fingertips

that can only feel the patterns

full of icicles in the air.

freezing shoots before they grow

are useless if only numb.

 

Tasting tongue

full of eager buds

that sprout and bloom

when ignited

means nothing if nutrients are void.

 

Curious nose

with caverns for flurries

of petunia pollen and

thick, woody maple syrup

could care less with only rancid scents abroad.

 

Heart beats

that pulse rivers through a body

to jar awakening senses and

pull at thin soul strings

don’t matter unless they’re wanted.

 

The bubble that is built around

our wispy-walled worlds,

isolating feelings

from actions,

makes stony faces acceptable.

 

It means that

kissing eyelashes closed

and cutting off sound, touch,

tongue and smell

positively alleviate life away.

 

Here are my rising goose bumps,

and gritted teeth

seeing bodies turned to ash

with their wonderful, beautiful

spirits trapped inside.

 

Bubbles are the

pulsing enclosures,

keeping out the oxygen

those fragile soul strings

so need to breathe.

 

They thought that the

terrified fluttering of their

heart beats, trapped in cages

didn’t matter,

and that shatters the heart inside my chest.

 

Every word you say,

every breath you take

has meaning!

I want to shout.

Maybe a few will listen.

 

But many have

turned blind eyes, deaf ears,

numb fingers, tasteless tongues

and senseless noses

so soon.

 

Bubbles close in,

boa constrictors around their necks,

with no yield, they feel, leaving them

suffocating.  They turn to the ash

because where else can they go?

 

Pop!

 

One is too many to lose.

-Suzanne
(To be honest, I wrote this a while ago but I don't feel so good and couldn't get my brain to function properly. Sorry!)