BB Grey–musings

Libra’s Scales

It happened to you—
I listened,
as your recounting unfurled,
and grew silent
when my own account
faded pale against yours.

The day my smile wept,
I called,
left my voice in fragile lines
too faint to trace—
but you recoiled in anger,
for I had not left you space.
I stood, feeling inept.

And when they took your love away,
because help had been
inconvenient—
a burden, a delay—
I understood then:
you knew no other way.

You—your own mainstay,
your gravity, your prayer,
every day.

But life, the Libra,
will balance its scales,
feeding you to you,
until nothing remains.

Emaciated, gruel for stew,
a soul left gnawing at itself—
Atlas, alone,
with only you in need.