Testaments
Just below its surface
the body is furiously writing,
we would translate
but the language is obscure.
Upon a night
when clouds blanket eyes
the great works of the flesh
emerge.
Legend and myths appear
in plain text.
The body, as if dead
gives up its inner voice,
blind eyes read a tactile Brail
words imprinted
on the clay tablet of being.
When daylight peeps
we emerge from these myths
embodied
as the ghosts
of our self-authored
testaments.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
