You were born again in hell -
a slurry of mud and blood and shit,
under the sun that never hit
never warmed
never pierced the haze,
no clarity here, Willie, no focus.
Just forward into the black and white,
the onus on your tender shoulders,
and a thousand cries,
and starbursts in your flash blind eyes,
smoke stuffed,
blood soaked,
a mole seeking the eternal prize...
An end.
God ordained peace.
A soft hand and a moment of ease beyond -
twisted metal,
it goes for miles and the cries,
seeping from the wreckage,
echoed in agonized eyes,
no end here.
Just the bones that reach,
claw at the sky.
Gnarled.
Fire darkened.
Prophets of the shadow.
Heralds of the march
of progress.
If you could breathe, Willie,
would you pour out the sadness?
Or did you swallow the bitter pill,
favour the lie,
turn your eyes -
endlessly
from face to face
to seek the meaning in the haze
of madness?
To find the beauty,
buried in blood?
About the Creator
S. A. Crawford
Writer, reader, life-long student - being brave and finally taking the plunge by publishing some articles and fiction pieces.
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