Reclamation Of A Land Once Stolen
Her dress flows.
Silk of mulberry heavied by tears.
Yampee-eyed, cracked lips
in the yolk of day. She appears
She tells me its time
to gather the pieces that ran astray,
to wash this temple sullied by hands that grasp
to whip this body with redemption and sage.
Her dress falls.
Silk of mulberry gathered at her ankles.
Hesitant eyes look upon strange land
in the egg of day. She appears
I tell her its time
to puzzle the pieces, caught and tamed
to sanctify this body, still sacred
I await her repossession.
Only A Name
Weary walls whisper a name
in the haunting eye of night as cold winds
rattle the remains of days, long gone,
still etched across my cerebrum.
I mourned my dead like a nation at war –
indeed we must press on
to any end, at any cost.
I mourned my dead none at all
for what good is it to wail and long.
Still, as the night crawls,
I have gained nothing at all
but echoes of torment
and our memories’ gall.