Monday, September 5, 2011

Dust

The razor words cut sharp,
And i turned to dust. 
I don't have the strength to be a man tonight,
So i'll just lie here 
Piled high;
Lacking courage to even take a breath.
Distressed and broken,
My soul is like a tattered sweater;
These words pulled my frayed ends 
To pieces.
Truth cuts past the bone and marrow
To a place in my heart I didn't even know
Existed.
A place of frayed and tattered dust.

8 comments:

  1. oy, sounds a rather desolate place...i hope that the rains come soon enough in that heart...smiles.

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  2. Looks to need some sprinkles of fresh perspectives, sounds a rather dismal place. Dried and desolate.

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  3. A sad place to be... this too shall pass.

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  4. Lets pray for rain....love your imagery in this one....beautifully written! :-)

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  5. Such deep pain you describe here. I do hope it's only poetry and not real. Very nicely written!
    My offering for this prompt: http://charleslmashburn.wordpress.com/2011/09/09/he-was-a-ford-man-2/

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  6. Sorrowful well written piece

    Anna :o]

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