Raining Ink.

As I stand on this gravel road

that stretches out in both directions,

I can feel bits of sharp rocks stick to the skin

on the soles of my feet.

They are damp, the rocks,

from the rain that furiously pours

down from the sky upon everything,

heavy and thick as it hits against my face.

 

I hold my hands out in front of me,

holding them up towards the sky

that tries to bury me with its heaviness,

a weight pressing down on my shoulders

that fills me with a feeling of contentment.

I stand under this ink-like rain

as the black slowly soaks into my skin,

my muscles,

my bones,

into to my center.

And I stand here with the black of the ink filling inside me,

vulnerable, like I am a glass of unwritten words to dispose of.

This numinous person drinking me is unseen,

but I can feel every sip he takes from me.

I feel the greed for the resources I am given by the clouds.

He drinks away my ink, appraising me by only my words.

How can I use my words if you swallow them away?

You took away my ink, and now here I stand.

The rain hits my face. My eyes are closed, hands out,

and the apparition of you laughing at me

When all I am trying to do is fill myself back up again. 

 

-S.L.S.

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

Powerful poetry dear friend.
"down to my core.
As I stand here, the black fills inside me, vulnerable,
like I am a glass for someone to have a glug of my unwritten words."
The words alive and strong. We need positive motivation. When negative forces steal our joy to write. Nice to depart their present. Thank you for sharing the excellent poetry.
Coyote