Our exterior will always be deceiving
The feathers that round our bodies
And bulk our muscles defend us
From the world that wouldn’t mind laughing
At a four pound “killing” machine
They would enjoy seeing the strength drain away
All joy in still solitude forsaken by deadly silence
And our own ****** mastery becomes wrapped
In the live mummifications of our failures
Screaming truth to the saying
Life is best taken with a grain of salt.
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 6:19 PM UTC
Our exterior will always be deceiving
The feathers that round our bodies
And bulk our muscles defend us
From the world that wouldn’t mind laughing
At a four pound “killing” machine
They would enjoy seeing the strength drain away
All joy in still solitude forsaken by deadly silence
And our own ****** mastery becomes wrapped
In the live mummifications of our failures
Screaming truth to the saying
Life is best taken with a grain of salt.
I wrote this poem based on an image of a dove that was completely mummified by a limestone based salt that was running off a nearby volcano into a lake. It was incredibly haunting and I couldn't just leave the site I found it on without jotting a few thoughts down about it.
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