Sunday, 27 November 2011

doth roar my bursting heart

~ doth roar my bursting heart, oh sacred stone.
~ the confessor cried wolf once too many times. drunk me too fast.
~ in crafting personal mythologies i sift through the rubble to find the roots of my self.
~ it never comes easy, but are you watching?
~ i draw small circles, knowing not who to trust.
~ believing we are more than hollow bodies, i listen.
~ the bird in your hand sings so sweetly.
~ all night i listened to the wind, but still only understand fragments.
~ the stones around my neck. the possibility of fossilised memories.
~ all our other lives. scattered runes in thirty two year old skin.

2 comments:

demie said...

"in crafting personal mythologies"
i see myselv in it or trying to find my roots as you say
: )

ellom said...

so much in here. your words seem to echo some of the inner landscapes that I know or am getting to know these days. showing them in new light.