There is a man who stands in the mist listening and watching the man he once was, hammering the rocks of the earth.
For this is where he lived and breathed. A breath that never breathed freedom.
He saw himself take his last breath, when his mouth filled with red. He had charcoal to his elbows with his lungs filled with dust.
That was his last breath his last movement, a swing and chatter at the rocks. A breath that never breathed, that never tasted freedom. As he collapses to the floor like a tower diminishes.
Maybe he is in a better place now, away from the rich man's shouts and commands. Away from the whips and slashes. Away from the smell of burning flesh.
YOU ARE READING
Under The Bark
PuisiHere is a few poems that I have written.Some of them are decent some of them are not so much
