Sunday, 6 June 2010

Like a Bolt

Desolation follows
The sudden storm.
As if the earth borrows
Death’s silent form.

The rattle of sabres,
Scabbards emptied.
Unwelcome behaviour.
I softly bleed.

And the pain strikes deeply,
Lancing beneath
Surface flesh so freely,
Igniting grief.

And then the quiet comes,
Though I shake still,
Trapped in my broken home.
Pale, cold and ill.

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