Drawbridges

A god is wrestled 

from someone’s chest.
A dust mote topples
a kingdom.

An orchid of snakeskins
blows in the wind.
Come, ghost.
Come, restless.

Change goes unseen
from generation to generation,
the gradual shifting,
lulling our drawbridges down.

Come, boxed bones.
Come, holistic healer
before the skins are burned.
Fill the chest. Despotic air

discharges from our lungs.
The luggage heart is always packed.
Quagmire foundations sink
in the snakeskin shade.

 

We can’t solve this.
The laces will not thread through.
Stopping. Starting.
Saying goodbye to the sojourner birds.

 

Kilimanjaro’s snow
won’t return. 
The sky weeps
now as the bare peaks scars its face.

 

 

 

Author's Note

What works? What doesn't? ...

Reviews

[M Breen]

Striking, thought provoking and original images. Good, good!
The line "The laces will not thread through" says many things: voyage, frustration, search, bad quality boots - it's great.
I also agree with the previous review about the first stanza.
Thanks for sharing.

[Cody Smith]

Thank you! I appreciate your time and thoughtful remarks :)

[Joan*Eckhart]

I don't really know too much about poems-I'm no expert, but, the first stanza was really awesome. I really loved it. I look forward to reading more.

[Cody Smith]

Thanks so much!