the day I lose feeling
will not come softly.

it will arrive in a hush—
not a peaceful one,
but the kind that devours echoes
and drapes the bones in frost.

I will no longer know the sting
of sunburned sorrow,
nor the hush of a warm hand
brushing the tears off my cheek.

no more trembling
under a thunder-skied guilt,
no more gasping at poems
that bleed with someone else’s grief—
I will be blank.

a shell left in the wake of a tide,
where even the salt forgets
the memory of waves.

how cruel,
to be untouched by ache or awe.
to no longer cry
at the sight of spilled light
on cold pavement at dusk—
to not care
how a crow calls at dusk
with a voice like cracked obsidian.

when I can no longer feel,
do not call it numb.
call it death.
call it
gone.

and when you find my name
beneath dust
in a book no one reads anymore,
know that once,
I was fire.
and it took the whole night sky
to put me out.

In the land of milk and honey, within the rocks, the water flows. The love of life is dangling, from a chain of forever wars…
Each a part they look away, unconcerned and unafraid.
Unaware the masses move, while their bombs drop on you.
Obscure , the hand we’ve been dealt, turn the device off, toss it on the shelf! Never mind what you heard, this world must be purged.
Purged of them over there,
Lydia, Syria how could
nobody cared?
The Nuremberg trials and **** Germany, we surely do forget.
Yet the identical road is beneath our feet, in each and every step!