Empty and cracked
the ambrosia is long gone now
leaked through the fresh broken borders
I do not overflow
Like I should.
I do not hold
The boundless light
In my palms
Instead it soaks the soil.
Meant to be shone through
as the light danced a lithe ballet
But it is empty and cracked.
Bereft for the purpose that broke it.
YOU ARE READING
Black Box
PoetryOriginal poems, much like a plane's black box, documenting the moments leading up to an explosive disaster.
