For some, a line, in sand. In chalk.
A line in water on hot pavement.
Suggestion more than anything else.
For others, the line, demarcation. There.
A line in life drawn in blood across bone.
The reason for it all, after it nothing else.
You tell me, “Don’t cross me” and I smile.
Your warnings, watery and thin, mean nothing.
Sadly, you know this all to well, and still…
and still I wouldn’t utter the words of warning.
I don’t warn. I don’t threaten. I am. Just that.
Know me by my words, my life and take it in.
Soft hearted, yes I know I am, and yet not.
My heart is my own, but what it would
bleed for is business not of yours, know or judge.
Stare you down, cold eyed, and watch you walk.
Prayers for your soul, and for your going away.
Do not pass here. Do not cross that line you see.
It lurks there, the guardian, and only those who
have the ears to hear and the eyes to see know it.
Shiver and shudder, turn and go back. Do not pass.
You think you know me. You know nothing of me.
You’ve never seen the other side, lucky you.
Pray that line never gets crossed. I pray it. Daily.
Once you thought you could dish it out.
Once you thought I had no choice but to eat.
Bitter cup washed it down. No more. Never.
In spite of you, not because of you, we live.
We drive it back, the darkness and the pain.
We seek light and defend it too. Here. Now.
Sure I laugh. I cry too. I share all those things.
Emotions. Hearts on sleeves. Dangling raw.
Hands behind backs, eyes hard a stare. At you.
Do not pass. You should know better by now.
There is no mistaking when you hit the line.
The line is armed, and we hit back. Hard.
For with Real Toads, a late entry into the Demarcation challenge, and shared for both Real Toads and dVerse Open Link offerings this week.