A goddess’s feet, burnt to ash;
Blood; A knife; the open gash.
The smoke seeps over the walls;
A cracked lung, a moment to stall.
An unopened scene, to my darkened eyes.
Closed tightly in dust; held securely in lies.
Speaking the words, my mind coming undone.
Underneath me, flames rise from this sun.
I’ve banished your myths, your beliefs.
Imagine there’s no afterworld, a life only thief.
A silver light, a silver soul, line these sheets.
Misery in comparison, to this endless beat.
Broken stones, beneath my footprints;
My naked feet, walking above these splints.
Clutching these letters, drowned deep in pain.
Searching for sunlight, reaching only rain.
Grasping for silence, but touching sound.
Alone on this planet, condemned to spinning around.
Colors collide, into dampness of Earth.
Waiting for conclusion, a craving for rebirth.
YOU ARE READING
The Ghosts of my past.
PoesíaLiterally, the ghosts of my past. My pain and such. Poetry from 2008-2009.
