Lying empty
In this pile of rocks
The soul
Pounds up the rocks,
Not yet disgracing
The sun’s embrace,
Shortly preceding
the downbeat of Life.
What distance is
Drawn
From boiling blood?
Whose verdict
Made me
To spill
And to stain
The victim’s grasp?
May 26, 2020
May 26, 2020 at 6:59 PM UTC
Lying empty
In this pile of rocks
The soul
Pounds up the rocks,
Not yet disgracing
The sun’s embrace,
Shortly preceding
the downbeat of Life.
What distance is
Drawn
From boiling blood?
Whose verdict
Made me
To spill
And to stain
The victim’s grasp?