Day, you are
Heavy-lidded.
Dissolute.
Thinned.
You have spent yourself
With no prize in hand at sun's end.
Arms, they are
Heavy.
Bruised.
Burned.
We drop silent exhausted bitterness
To the ground
Unnoticed by you
In your frenetic death knell.
We lay down
On thread-bare cots
Dissolute.
Holding a seed of Hope
For tomorrow, and tomorrow's morrow.
Praying the field birds
Will not swoop down,
Open-beaked, and carry it away.
No comments:
Post a Comment