Short Sutured Poems

Physician heal thy body…
virtue heal thy soul

Wounds profane—blood reclaimed,
whose sutured truth is told

(Dreamsleep: September, 2020)...

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Broken soldiers
Splintered dreams
Huddled
The horror of now
Haunted
By the horrors of then
Scarred, sutured,
But as yet
Un-cauterized
Wounds
Forever bleeding
Into their present...

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Gripping the meteor,
both hands for dear life

Expelling, compelling,
less heat and more light

Afraid to let go,
knowing what it will mean

My pen to go dry
—my heart not to bleed

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2017)...

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Something has awakened you.
Your bed is soft--silky too.
You start to feel around,
side to side, up and down.

Then, you freeze--
screaming inside your mind.
Your mouth has been sutured shut.
It seems you’ve been buried alive.

Alesia Leach © 10/2014...

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The ebony overwhelmed every
crimson of the wilting flower
and the masquerade was slowly
beginning to show.
Was it the veneer of death it had put up
or was it truly heading towards obscurity?
Aloof, broken off from a living plant
sutured to a sponge in an opaque vase
it no more wished to hypnotise.

Date:5-6-17...

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Three pummels to the chest
abusive words wound the heart
slashes though sutured,  never heal
daggers thrown without a second thought

Arrows fly to their target
three aimed to pierce the heart
a struggle that is far beyond measure
what pain do you feel; what tears you apart

What weapons do you use
when you strike a fragile heart
life lies in danger at the hands of men
three strokes of a brush, death is a work of art...

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My hands are sutured 
behind my head. 
I lie like a fallen yield sign 
on the side of the road. 
My path is yellow and humble. 

My hands separate.  Pull. 
And split open the back of my skull. 

Evolution takes place in the gaps 
of solitude being locked in a room, 
away from all influences. 
Natural and spiritual become one law. 
And I yield . . .  

Pried open with my crowbar 
hands, the grey matter separates -- 
creating an entranceway 
for new experiences....

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"Caress the broken heart  
with threads of muted sound,"
When your world falls apart, 
In silence, is peace found, 

Cherish the sutured soul
with a kind touch of love, 
It's how you become whole, 
Praying to God above, 

Cater to shattered dreams
in quiet pondering, 
When on your cheeks, tear gleams, 
Keep thoughts from wandering, 

Colour your vanquished mind
with positivity, 
Let hues of hope remind
to prize tranquility. 


#2...

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In luxuriant terrane of verdant sprouts
opulent golden understory unveiled,
stemmed by swerving jade blades,
entwining the pairs of legs petrified
within the maze of floral profusion.
The black figure of deviant prominence
stands out like a towering protector
in sutured closeness fused with her,
camouflaged to evade the predator.
Bare trees aligned in harmonized motif,
outline the floral boulevard for them
to walk away from the onyx horizon 
to the sunburst meadow ahead.
...

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