April 13, 2017
Poem Twelve
I was born into the wasteland of her absence,
woken from deep sleep, a statue crackling
as it shifts its weight. Fingers shoved down
my throat, but I cannot vomit, only stare
wild-eyed at the beasts surrounding me,
sun blazing bright over cracked earth, twining
weeds strangling marble busts of wise old women--
I am a night creature, unused to heat and the brutality
that comes with burning day-- give me the shield
of the moon; her alabaster aura drives away death.
Gender:
Points: 29221
Reviews: 863