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JacobWePoems
Waning scion encroaching a course An Isolated course; coarse is its skin blind-sight is its eye with flutist wind whistling its mind Sly stars dripping under fogged horizons the moon shuttering light, fleeing from the gaunt wood where I reside Night, shroud of razor black oozing pustules of defect and blight, mind snaking through bowels-- grisly bowels kept in swamps kept in dark and damp kept underground-- stone underground Sprouting out splintered atonement, slumped on a broken wall Gray above, light humming under feet, through scabrous stone and sodden clay One hope lingers: plunge worrisome hands into the viscous floor Tugging fingernails, bartering screams with the wind, grounded pain arises through the dirt, latching to my veins Injecting the soil and stone into my twitching heart, feeding the cells with native essence Purging the human from the silken skin; spraying it into the sediment home Bedrock welcomes my sight and my trench shapes my stale body.            Becoming soil and rock            and worms and root            offers a listing breeze            to the now formless thought The dirt is in me The rock is in me The qualm is without
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Oct 10, 2018
Oct 10, 2018 at 1:20 PM UTC
Qualm Without
Waning scion encroaching a course An Isolated course; coarse is its skin blind-sight is its eye with flutist wind whistling its mind Sly stars dripping under fogged horizons the moon shuttering light, fleeing from the gaunt wood where I reside Night, shroud of razor black oozing pustules of defect and blight, mind snaking through bowels-- grisly bowels kept in swamps kept in dark and damp kept underground-- stone underground Sprouting out splintered atonement, slumped on a broken wall Gray above, light humming under feet, through scabrous stone and sodden clay One hope lingers: plunge worrisome hands into the viscous floor Tugging fingernails, bartering screams with the wind, grounded pain arises through the dirt, latching to my veins Injecting the soil and stone into my twitching heart, feeding the cells with native essence Purging the human from the silken skin; spraying it into the sediment home Bedrock welcomes my sight and my trench shapes my stale body.            Becoming soil and rock            and worms and root            offers a listing breeze            to the now formless thought The dirt is in me The rock is in me The qualm is without
#nature
Written by
JacobWe
20/M/Wisconsin
Oct 10, 2018
Oct 10, 2018 at 1:20 PM UTC
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