Spring

Every Spring I awaken,

And the water is still.

The grass is growing greener,

And she’s soothed me through the nightmares.

As the cherry blossoms begin to form,

I go somewhere.

I go to him.

A marble statue,

Sitting on a throne.

He’s cold to the touch,

And his voice induces chills.

I close my eyes and hold my breath,

While his tight grip leaves indents on my skin

I don’t leave until the water starts to rise,

And the grass begins to whither.

Until I’m dismissed with his approving nod,

Until I’ve place my spirit in the palm of his hand

Like some sick sacred offering.

Then I lay still in my bed,

And I wait and I sleep,

Until it’s Spring again.