Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
Feed to me a current so that I may have an adversary 
It’ll help carry the bones home when our wars are done
 Remembering how we’d dislodged our lives
 Torn them clean from the earth
 Stolen to ***** cairns too tall to climb 
Even for nimble us
 Allow me then to stack my bricks up against yours 
Measure if you must
 They can topple continuously 
 Mine were bound to from birth
 Build with them a wall against which I can press
 In my very own war 
Crumble the pieces into a fine powder 
To be blown out of hand and spun
 into a wind-turned eye
 Call it salt and litter our croplands with it 
It is standard procedure 
That nothing lives long enough to learn how to mock itself
 Watch it slip from your hands 
 Watch the line slip from mine 
No chance of less slack on my own volition 
 Better a contained current in some watery recess Than a fought one upended in thundering torrents Better to quell the urge to hurl oneself toward it 
 Than to hold taut a line tied to a drowning stone
0
Mar 9, 2017
Mar 9, 2017 at 12:59 AM UTC
Call It Salt
Feed to me a current so that I may have an adversary 
It’ll help carry the bones home when our wars are done
 Remembering how we’d dislodged our lives
 Torn them clean from the earth
 Stolen to ***** cairns too tall to climb 
Even for nimble us
 Allow me then to stack my bricks up against yours 
Measure if you must
 They can topple continuously 
 Mine were bound to from birth
 Build with them a wall against which I can press
 In my very own war 
Crumble the pieces into a fine powder 
To be blown out of hand and spun
 into a wind-turned eye
 Call it salt and litter our croplands with it 
It is standard procedure 
That nothing lives long enough to learn how to mock itself
 Watch it slip from your hands 
 Watch the line slip from mine 
No chance of less slack on my own volition 
 Better a contained current in some watery recess Than a fought one upended in thundering torrents Better to quell the urge to hurl oneself toward it 
 Than to hold taut a line tied to a drowning stone
miles-cottingham
Written by
Mar 9, 2017
Mar 9, 2017 at 12:59 AM UTC
Request permission to use this poem