Each morning I shave an illustrated man,
memories sliding under my razor,
each whispering in my head.
Yours is a rainbow that sings of crystal
in multicolored hues of light,
while yours is a bell that plays a dirge
to softly call down the night.
And yours is the river and yours the tree,
and yours the scent of spring blossoms
chanting the warmth of dark earth
to the tune of the returning sun.
But yours—yes yours—yours is the blade
that moves across my throat, up and then up and then up and then up.
And that little drop of red that drains through the white
to make no sound at all? That too is you
and you—yes you—you are the loudest of all.
The Illustrated Man is an early science fiction book by Ray Bradbury. Made into a movie in 1969, it explores the relationship of man to the world. The main character has a series of tattoos etched upon him be a time traveler that predict the future and which move over his body.
Is it just me or do we all often daydream as we go through the mundane chores of our life, remembering past incidents and people we have interacted with? Thinking it over what they mean to us today? What is the most important such memory you can think of?
Thank you for reading Blessed be the hand that slips. I sincerely hope you have enjoyed it and I humbly appreciate your visiting the Book of Pain. As always, I look forward to your comments.
© 2013 by John Etheridge; all rights reserved. This poem and accompanying notes are licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License. This applies to all original work found on this site, unless noted otherwise. The attribution claimed under the license is: © 2013 by John Etheridge, https://bookofpain.wordpress.com.