Breaking Clay

A poem.

I awaken with a burning brow and feet made out of clay,

Ixion’s roots run deep and paint my room in grey.

Now in between the moon and you my angels sing of fate

but deep down in this hole I’ve dug I only know of hate.

A sweltering beast of fire and blood that runs deep within my veins,

he who blocks out the morning sky and calls upon the rains.

This hellish pouring of my demon leaves me forced to watch the mouse,

eaten by a serpent black, he’s white and pure, we’re both trapped inside my house.

But sickness can’t prevail, even demons grow old,

and one day I shall feel that shining crown of gold.

Reviews

[denise]

Perfectly chosen words! I really liked this - and I honestly do not come across a ton of poetry that I thoroughly enjoy! Thank you!

[Shekinah2015]

Beautiful imagery, Walczak. You have written a fantastic and thought-provoking poem. You definitely have a knack for language!