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Weak and wet, we'll fall from grace
and land on shining silver trays
and tongues
that lash and lick lay
inside of mouths that hesitate
to let their words fall out,

and from their broken, dripping jaws
if ever there should come a call
or cry
for anything at all
we'll beg their heavy hands to crawl
and drag their shaking legs

to find a picture of a sky
in which there is a God aligned
to hear
their scarcest, weakest whine,
that pity-drizzled closing line
they've come to know and love.
©2008-2009 ~StormCloudMao
:iconstormcloudmao:

Author's Comments

Props to scarredsodeep for writing [link] , to which you may consider this a companion poem. We seem to be going through [more or less] the same thing here, hence my little contribution.

Comments


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:iconscarredsodeep:
You know, right? That I love you?

I feel like I've been you.
:iconevidence-of-tim:
Hit the ground to see the sky.

Gripping and graphic, I quite like it.

Details

January 27, 2008
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