What Might They Find There
What Might They Find There
Obsidian suctions lost withered time
Through sugar-sweet veins thick-coated in grime;
Guitars strummed by orphans accompany space
Wrapped ‘round bloody throats choked in lavender lace;
Visceral heat-waves escape frozen eyes
Peering directly at sun-thirsty skies;
Questions are whispered in tossed away silence
Where hatred and anger form an alliance;
Steps trip while walking through this cruel black hole,
Steer clear, I beg you, my baritone soul.
9/18/2016
Copyright © Phillip Garcia | Year Posted 2016
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