"blankened" poems
We spark
the kindling in ritual
as souls dance around us;
our bonfire keeps them at bay.
They never stray,
hoping to hold us, hug us,
whisper missings and tidings of comfort
to steady our bones for passage.
We wait
on rotting logs, gazing toward dawn,
entranced by flames and huddled together,
closely, with wet-iced eyelashes.
Our silent breathing scuttles away
on paths of pale white and moist,
out and sifted through our watchers' chests.
Their voices go unheard.
Who would hear conversation
from depths during an eve of fright?
We watch
the orange-red idol wane in the wind.
Odd, no? Shouldn't it be growing?
They're breaking though to us
so we embrace more closely,
latching, heartbeats bumping one another
keeping rhythm, keeping our stillness,
and fevered hands massage our shoulders,
erasing tensity, stiff limbs, lightness.
Smoke escapes our eye sockets
and they smile at our blankened faces.
Who are these people celebrating?
Oct 14, 2012
Oct 14, 2012 at 9:05 PM UTC
this scroll has been
erased
blankened by neglect
its anger has washed clear
the ink that once flowed
across
its parchment pages
those who pass it by
fail to see
the d y i n g
words.
where is the pen
that will embody
the white space
once again?
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 11:35 AM UTC