Poetry ~ Fabrice Poussin
The Problem with the Giant
Goliath may have known his fate
so strong in the armor he was made
yet to fall at the end, to the child.
So many giants roam among the meek
looking from the cloudy realms
feared by those who think themselves weak.
Those distant ones yet have a dream
to be like their diminutive selves for a moment
for their monstrous hearts hold many secrets.
Multitudes race to safety upon hearing the loud footsteps
trembling in unison with a weary earth
unaware of the plea the colossi carry with them.
There is great chagrin in those few souls
housed in impregnable fortresses
statues standing tall above ancient temples.
If only the many could take a moment and listen
to the lonely wanderer perhaps they would see
that greatness comes at so dear a price.
Sadly he has forgotten how to cry before them
for no one will believe he suffers within the citadel
and he continues on the road in cruel pretense.
Pain of a Child
You hurt child
in the middle of the street
crowded with strangers
rushing to other futures.
You cry little girl
deep within your breast
abandoned in the palace
seeking a warmer hand.
You are so still today
when others rejoice at the sun
in your corner you remain
the darkness your friendly dress.
You must remember the laughter
running through the halls
carefree careless and bare feet
there was no end to your light then.
Open your eyes and see
these roads are yours to take
warm with the flow of eternity
you can smile again in your hiding place.
Modest with his broken wing he glides softly
exhausted by the hours of sufferance and hunger
pondering the delay gifted by the turbulence above.
Scanning the surface of the jagged world below
he searches for a gentle plane upon which to land
desperate in the moment of unending torment.
Currents of an unseen plane carry his last hopes
the body untouched remains warm with a new birth
sovereign of the highest realm he ponders the morrow.
Far from the nearest blade his sharp eye wonders
how long until he finds the destiny written on the plateau
transported by the will that guides him through his days.
So close the ruby nectar begins to flow to her domain
yet there is no regret to be found in the torrent of those tears
only delight in the communion of earth and flesh.
He will not land in the kingdom promised by blasphemers
nor die where the flame ignites metal, rock, even the air
but be the brother of a girl too born of all that is eternal.
An inch away from eternity, he remains still
why take another breath when the air is burning?
why drink another sip when the drink is flaming?
why continue the thought when the brain freezes?
Wishing to slip away into the safety of memories
long gone between the crack of brittle old bones
he stays silent in the dormant shade of a dream
perhaps the monster about will let him be…
And inch away from the fulfillment of his last hope
the body now unknown persists in its tremor
distances away from a soul of scattered particles
beats slow, mass across a desert of sand and stone.
The flesh cools as the lava spewed from Hades
cold as marble with its dying vessels of painful blues
a mind hovers as the strangest misty companion
before it vanishes into one final sublime implosion.
If you were a jungle
I would brandish the machete
cut through the vines numb the thorns
and venture into the dark unknown.
If you were a castle
I would run to the drawbridge
seek the steel curtains
and part my way through the thick walls.
If you were a garden
I may plea for a chance to enter
inhale your infinite perfumes
and let you carry me on to your secrets
If you were catacombs or a graveyard
I may mourn the sadness of my kin
change a spring suit for a shroud
and disappear into your infinite abyss
If you were a desert
I might fear the heat of summer dusks
renounce my wish to pay you a visit
and sleep upon your sands as nectar.
But you are an ocean
deep with the mystery of numerous lives lost
and I merely shiver awaiting your call
to surrender to the rapture of your voice.
Fabrice Poussin teaches French and English at Shorter University. Author of novels and poetry, his work has appeared in Kestrel, Symposium, The Chimes, and many other magazines. His photography has been published in The Front Porch Review, the San Pedro River Review as well as other publications.