Where bright blood flowed
across my carven chest,
I now feel only
warm, tropic raindrops.
Impassive priests once stood here,
clad in gold and feathers,
obsidian knives dripping gore.
And now a bored child sulks,
kicking at wet pebbles,
dragged unwilling to my side
by tourist parents.
Turning away, he spits pink
gum into my granite bowl.
There was a time when
I would have had
his beating heart.
Mar 19, 2019
Mar 19, 2019 at 6:14 AM UTC
Where bright blood flowed
across my carven chest,
I now feel only
warm, tropic raindrops.
Impassive priests once stood here,
clad in gold and feathers,
obsidian knives dripping gore.
And now a bored child sulks,
kicking at wet pebbles,
dragged unwilling to my side
by tourist parents.
Turning away, he spits pink
gum into my granite bowl.
There was a time when
I would have had
his beating heart.
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