Tiredness
Soars
Waxen wings melted
I fall and fall
No sky or earth
Can hold me
Half bowls
Try to trap me
I am in the center
The core of the Earth
And explode
Only to implode later
These masks
These scars
No bark or rock
Can hide
The desert is cruel but fair
She whispers to me
Where have you gone my child
I watch the scorpions dance
Claw to claw
A tango of exoskeletons
In the night
Like me
Hiding
Uncrushed
I like this very much. I relate. I imagine many people can. We fight our battles and come out of the fray somewhat damaged and surely scarred. We seek out our place, the place where we can go because there we are protected and where we can remain "Uncrushed."
Like the inevitable nature of life's evolution, matter to matter, flesh to dust, there remains the undefinable hope that humanist spirit will have a final say, that "Where have you gone my child?" is answered, even as senses are drawn to the scorpion and the remaining moment, that split second just before you have the answer. You've written a visually impactful first person examination of what I think the writer knows: this isn't all there is.
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