... addiction ..., ... beauty ..., ... country ..., ... God ..., ... life ..., ... love ..., ... pain ..., ... poem ..., ... poems ..., ... poetry ..., ... sins ..., ... Spring ..., ... the South ...

weary words, dreary skies

the bulky clouds swish whitewash
across the embers of my eyes.
Earth and sky and horizon melt

like gruesome wax faces left drying
too close to the artisan’s flames.
his hands, tired and cracked

shave and chip shards and bits
of dust from the cold facade
perusing the countenance buried

deep within every living stone.
you roughcast my heart in haste
with your weary words and dreary

skies. you incise, in gory detail, the
exquisite nature of my reticent soul
and set the pieces in saturated white light,

for all the world to see.

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3 thoughts on “weary words, dreary skies

  1. “the bulky clouds swish whitewash
    across the embers of my eyes.”
    so complex. Im thinking a million things right off the bat
    and I LOVE
    “deep within every living stone.”
    I never thought of stones as living before, but I love them. I have a bunch scattered around the apartment and a polished heartshaped piece in my purse. hmmmmm

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