Ballad
The Second Grave
They said I disappeared like a body lost in the tide wrong place, wrong time, wrong boy buried me alive But the dark has a way of teaching what the light never could Like how silence sharpens teeth and how to make it look good I counted every heartbeat like coins I couldn’t spend till I found a map in the madness and the making of an end Now I dress in velvet shadows A new name stitched in gold you built a cage around me once now I’m the story told I found more than just a fortune in that cold, forgotten place I found the kind of anger that rewrites a face They say dig two graves, darling if you’re hunting for revenge but I’ve been dead before you this is just where I begin I don’t need your mercy I don’t need the truth you buried me a victim I came back as proof There’s a fire in the diamonds there’s a pulse beneath the sea you took everything I was now look what you made me be No body, no witness no mercy, no crime just a ledger in my head and I’m balancing the lines So go ahead and pray for me say I’ve lost my way but I found a crown in exile and I’m wearing it today They say dig two graves, darling make the second one your own but I climbed out of the first one just to claim what I’m owed And if I fade when it’s over if there’s nothing left of me— just know I chose the ending when you chose to bury me
By Brie Boleyn7 months ago in Poets
The Glens Left Quieter
The passage a’ time cannae erase the hurt— Ah want tae tak ye doon the past, tae darker spells in Alba’s legacy. ... Ah mind when the weans and families ootnumbered the bleatin’ o’ sheep— when the land lay rich and breathin’, afore it was reined in for profit dressed as progress, ower hill and glen, through bogs o’ reekin’ peat. ... We were lifted— hauled like cargo— flung ower the ocean tae a New World that didnae ken our names. ... As auld Field Marshal Raglan led men tae die in Crimea, many o’ oor ain were sent awa— the glens left thinner, quieter. ... And those that stayed— the lairds’ men came creeping, no wi’ banners, but wi’ papers and fire. ... They took the hames from lassies and weans, bold where there were none tae fight back— cowards, aye, that wouldnae face the men if the men had still been there. ... And when the soldiers, worn and torn, returned, what waited but the wind— slippin’ through emptied glens and valleys, where nought but sheep remain, and nae voices left tae outnumber them. * Thanks for reading! Author’s note: This is for Tim Carmichael's Unofficial Challenge: Time Traveler Poetry for National Poetry Month.
By Paul Stewart7 months ago in Poets
