I am by no means a poet, but occasionally I get a brainwave I can’t resist. Mostly, I just start doodling and then feel the need to fill the spaces between the pen strokes with words.
And though I am no wordsmith, I know one thing for sure: you can never predict where a single word might take you. So I thought, huh, why not share some of the words I string together? After all, imperfect art is still art.
To preserve the spontaneity of the piece, I aplied only minimal editing.
Listen
when blood flows
through the narrow veins
of the dying world. People rejoice, deaf
to the screams of anguish. So reminiscent of
birdsong and the whisper of ocean waves, washing
the tears off the tortured face of the Earth
shuddering under stomps
of her killers’
dancing.
Thank you for reading! The fiction I post here will always remain free.
Enjoyed the story? Please, consider supporting my writing.
