For A Sphinx

This is for a Sphinx,

For the harmless enigma made terrible by mad attempts to interpret her as though she has an underlying truth.
For the mask disguising her face.
For the charade she wraps herself up in. For the perplexity shrouded in the puzzle she is.
For the relationship between the negative bedrock of her strength and that strength itself.


She sits groggily; tired and drained,
Exhausted from holding all the answers,
From keeping it all within.

She sits there close-mouthed,
Never letting out a whisper,
Not allowing anything slip.


Dedicated to a Sphinx,

To her deliverance from the judgement of cagey eyes.
To her escape from the torture of fidgety hands.
To her liberation from traps sprung by running mouths.
To her outbreak from the labs of idle minds.
To her withdrawal from the black-hole within shrewd hearts.