Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Sep 2011
Before my eyes

(an african woman rising from the ground
crying streams of sand infinite her wailing sound pierces
her son I call to me he bites off his finger and
rubs his blood in my hair and across
my face he cuts me)

open;

it’s tattooed in my mind for a blink.
Written by
Chris Weir
666
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems