I twist myself around realities
to differentiate my personalities,
comparing the similarities.
I stalk silver ghosts
through the thick fog of river bogs,
listening, as ancient dialogues vocalize
epic prologues and epilogues.
I study stone-carved runes
with cross-shaped text books,
hoping to understand why the
moon’s face is always stuck in
a perplexed look.
My dense soles wander hollow roads
above lost souls, knocking lose hot coals
to illuminate their black holes.
My gifts are wrinkled songs,
cupped in simple palms,
coated in brindle bronze.
I wade in still water,
desperately waiting to be
stolen by an orphaned current.
I empty my asthmatic lungs at
dense clouds, hoping I can turn
their opaque skins transparent.
I kiss searing tongues of flames so
my lips can learn how to burn.
I stow aboard sinking ships,
knotting my head to the
bow, and my heart
to the stern.
About the Creator
Kale Bova
Author | Poet | Dog Dad | Nerd
Find my published poetry, and short story books here!
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Comments (2)
This is great
Bronze is my favorite color! Great poem