Tragedy takes the highway
and arrives too soon
to it’s dire destination.
She kills with her eyes,
yet she’ll never see it.
She stays her hand all too often
and never frees the unwanted slave.
What’s he left to do,
or lose,
once she’s landed in her sheol?
So he sits and waits,
broken as the pottery
with which to scrape the sores…
The tears,
coursing like ichor
from some wicked wound,
burst in the dust
with his fallen intentions.
An idle thing, this shattered slave,
pasting her face to the next passerby
was never enough.
She didn’t exist
to quell the silent sunsets.
They warmed and soothed
those ones in the past…
While the fire refused to kill.
And as he prays, this lie lives on
with his neck shackled still.
All the while her perfection, consumed
in crimes against that one
she answered to, fades
with a photograph.
…and he still knows not what he’ll say. |
Submission Name: Shattered Slave
