Blog Dis

I am the river of madness
scavenged by crows
perched as still as blades of yellow grass.
There can be no rescue
from the collective soul.

I am the coldness,
for my lineage came
from sharpened blades
cutting open the frozen shores
to dislodge everyone from their place.

My age is the wisdom
of human beings,
eternally gorging.
How we adore the pages of violence,
our terror and disease.

I am the agony of defeat
stained with tears
glistening on dead leaves.
When first I feared the most terrible
the greater sick became my greed.

I am the darkness
of the hollow branches of disbelief.
Our desire is never complete:
more this, more that, more of everything.
There can be no retreat.

My age is the wind in front of me
speaking hauntingly of tomorrow.
Yet I have promised my love to Hope,
to embrace peace
each night I take sleep.

COPYRIGHT © Patricia K McCarthy