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.