All souls in purgatory have been penned,
a myth some scribe once scribbled in the sand,
apetalous and bowed upright ascend
to sing Yahuwah praises on the strand.
"At birth the tender sheath begins to die,
entombs the wraith and tholes with misery,"
I heard the sages say, could this be lie
to whet a razor edge on treachery?
They spin the lies that captivate the warners
while shadows dance across my bedroom wall…
escape shoal breath! exhale to bid the mourners,
abide the sting 'til mercy comes to call.
Emerge from ripened cells of temporal womb
become the rarest rose to wholly bloom.
Droplets Dwindle Up
© Copyright: Мэтти Дубоис, 2011
Свидетельство о публикации №111021001437
Свидетельство о публикации №111021001437
Рецензии