Pandora�s Day

Taut lies pull, hesitantly,
at the truth.
Parcelled, and tied
(neatly)
with a bow of white lace.

Filmy cobwebs that flutter,
uselessly,
in the wind.

Speared,
with the desiccated
and empty husks of insects.
They shake hollowly in the breeze,
rattling a song of doom and enticement.

And Pandora steps up
quivering fingers that flicker
across the knot.
Teasing at it.

An increment here, an increment there.

Until, at last
the struggling bow lies, trembling,
naked and vulnerable.
Shivering, and drowning
in a lake of foreshadowing,
as the scalpel slices silkily across the seal,
scoring the mahogany
with a feather-light line.

The fine line, indeed.

That day
was the day Pandora let loose
Pain, Illness, Jealousy, Hate�
And captured Hope.