A Dry Poem

Righteous Jammer
Righteous Jammer Posts: 509
edited June 2005 in Poetry, Prose, Music & Art
I am carved, hollow
A withered gourd
My core removed
Plainly visible, scored:
All seeds and soft strings

The wind slips
Inside my cavity
Stirring seeds skipped
By the carver's spoon
Which click and clatter
Across my ribcage like dry leaves
Scattering in a dust storm

My skin is onion thin
I'm a midnight echo-drum
These sere seeds spin on my
Xylophone bones and they moan:
Can you hear us? Can you hear?
This prayer for rain?
It doesnt hurt.... when I bleed
but memories...they eat me
I've seen it all before,...
bring it on cause I'm no victim.
-Ghost
Post edited by Unknown User on

Comments

  • Astral Star
    Astral Star Posts: 129
    Wonderful imagery - it reminds me of a frightening Halloween from my childhood.
    "If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to eachother." Mother Theresa

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