Rachael Swiss Poems
The Lion And The Unicorn
Real men don't cry
Or write poetry
But you did, and I made you
I stood frozen as an ice sculpture
Some frivolously expensive item kept solid
Hours of labor for the enjoyment of a moment
I watched in horror when you cracked.
My mirror image
Thousands of tiny fragments falling from your eyes
Where mine were hard and cold
My reflection grew distorted
Dispersed into my frigid lap
Returning to the womb perhaps
But Narcissus drowned within his pool.
The difference between self-love
A negligible time span of seven...
Harlem At 125th Street
Live corpses wander littered sidewalks
Shoeless, legless, toothless and tired
The refuse of a city built on broken promises.
Pregnancy runs rampant - a self-perpetuating disease
Along with 9a.m. alcoholism
And prison tattoo battle scars.
Rap music blares from an old boombox,
An antiquated relic spouting unrealized dreams.
Homeless and jobless soldiers of misfortune