Monika Dahl Irvin
Snarl at me demon lover,
Force me to see you,
Your eyes so weird and wasted
And full of fire and ice.
Skin I have touched,
Triggers off memories of evil.
Me,....such strange people...
Such wild nights, so much pain.
I felt the impact...panic stricken,
Full of dread, I howled into the darkness, hoping.
You saw, but you would not save my soul.
You devoured it, burped, and walked out of the door,
[Photographic Art by Ric Couchman]
With lofty words some worthy fellow,
Alfred he called himself,
Numbered me among those living
"A blind life within the brain."
Such designation I dare not refute,
For by far his lesser am I.
But that life for none else will I exchange,
Counting myself lucky beyond belief
And truly blessed to have such as I have now.
The youngest am I in my family,
Among whom intercourse is limited
And though not by blood related
I am much spoiled and doted upon.
The gift of speech I do no have
That is my lot from birth,
More by design than by chance,
But yet they converse with me
More than they do among themselves,
And truth is, comprehension eludes me
Though I'm spoken to as if I understand.
I do little around the house,
In fact, I do nothing at all,
Except sit on the couch all day,
Or lie sated and unconcerned on the floor,
Thinking of nothing in particular,
Dreaming, wishing, hoping, for nothing,
Expecting, desiring, wanting nothing
Existing without thought or speculation
The future, the past, both alien to me,
And death? A total stranger.
A philosopher I am not -
Though here I sound like one.
But I like that which I am and the way I am,
Delighting in this sedentary existence,
Free from thought, free from responsibility,
Though yet the recipient of love and care,
Unsolicited, undeserved, unearned,
From those supposedly superior to me,
Beneficiary of affection increasingly less seen
Among their own kind and in their world.
But I complain not; I accept this arrangement,
And for this I give, in return, my fealty.
[Photographic Art by Sofia Skulsky]