Holy Red Rotten Ruins

exactly that.

Here inside our citadel of
bones, we tear down every
wall. Strip away the brittle skin
from the inside. Grim we may
be to rest in the eye of such
a delicate skull, our work
summons the sky into our
holy red rotten ruins, bathing
death in such a light that sees
us only as ants inside
a bird.

Reviews

[dreaming dame]

Ants inside a bird... odd, I like it, as always!:)

[_]

Cool poem, it was an interesting use of imagery, buuuuuut I LIKED IT SO WOOT WOOT! ^-^

[Coyote Poetry]

Great description in the poem. Artwork allowed poem to have life. I like the use of language. Gave strength and purpose to the poem. Thank you for sharing the excellent poetry.
Coyote