Her shroud hangs over,
looming, dark and verdant canopy
shielding wet, weepy – sleeping eyes
unknowingly
there is a silence in divine
her whispers persist
in characterless
words – wounds that satellite
thoughts which escape
unknowingly –
draped in sadness.
A corner in the attic,
a crack in the gutter,
a pile of rubble –
the depths of her shadow
beseech,
made of loneliness.
She holds a lantern without a light,
unknowingly –
depriving those of
criminality, kinship and truth;
glory, passion and royalty
as all are equal
beneath the earth
unknowingly –
buried in meaninglessness idolatry.
A smoldering fire in a furnace,
a shallow ditch a village away,
a poster still searching –
the depths of her hatred,
claim,
names and keepsakes –
mementos and stories –
history and family –
possibility and everything
that was consumed by
misanthropy. |
Submission Name: Mute and Misanthropy
