UntitledA Poem by MAY
The warmth of your brother's knife reached into my corner and feeds on the fire from in my soul
where your same fears and defenses had been used as ammunition to drown out the voices in the rain charred remains were scattered along streams flowing backward to jezreel what good is there to retaliate if I'm blamed for my condition what good is there to lie if I'm forced to choose between a freedom imagined or enslaved This fabric of hypocrisy rests on both of our shoulders outweighing our collective conscience wolves in sheep's clothing parading around fallen temples of brotherhood the amoral site and glorification of death superimposed chasing shadow after shadow of pestilence tethered to flames I saw a distillation of the spirit stretched out like a wound against the sky A soft erasure cascades over fleshless abode
© 2024 MAY |
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