Wounds
A vicious rehearsal
has forked out. It is a flame that
bothers but borders on the
essence of life—the
survival of a community
searching for answers
after the quake and
the flood. I gather
these rhymes like
firewood
as I piece together the lines
only legible to the living.
These metaphors speak
to me, dressing my wounds,
unveiling my
valleys, as my rivers
flow downstream, before
emptying into the Atlantic.
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.
