Tumble Tumble
Tumbling is a funny thing,
Little blurs of colors and shards,
Stained glass pounding like hail,
Swarming noises rushing blood in ears,
Falling far far away from the once begun,
Stone and boulders reduced to pebble near dust,
Handfuls of grass and fingernails half chewed off.
Broken bones,
Empty pockets,
No tonight,
No tomorrow.
Crawling is a funny thing,
With arms and knees buckled tight,
Pushed and driven further into dirt,
Cold ground one day to call home,
Endless biting at shins left bare,
Hearts left beating in palms still open,
Exchanged for coins and paper,
To take home bread and water like prisoners.
Broken backs,
Empty cups,
No today,
No forever.
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