Poetry Today · Uncategorized

Scraps of Bones

In some ways we knew
That the world would change
Burnt up, scraped away, no more

The picture perfect sense
Of the past have cemented down
Our minds, our ears, our eyes
Closed up, Swept away,

The rust is no more,
The only thing left is the rising fever
Coiling and collapsing in our veins

Eyes wide open
Judging the world
For what is left,
For what to do with the rust,

The gray, the black,
The darkness, the deep darkness
That has burnt our souls dry,

And the mothers that are left
Cradling scraps of bonesΒ©

~~Nikki Moore

mourning-360500_960_720image-Pixabay

 

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