Black Soot and White Flowers

Black Soot and White Flowers

I see Four eyes below two brows

All set over a nose that is twisted at the bridge.

The four eyes watch me back and there is nothing,

Nothing I can do to unsee the four eyes.

I see eyes that are no longer lit,

tarnished and cold with a cloak of matte,

They’ve rusted and gone, fallen to dust.

Finally been called back to their silence,

holding on to some tendril of black and blue that does its own

to gather up the speckles of too many embers

Lost before they make it to the hearth

Soot that births flowers that weren’t given

a chance to bloom or a chance to grow.

It keeps the sky from seeing and kept the clouds from parting

A wallowing cry of an unborn babe,

to touch the blind ears of the man

alone in a room of nothing but soot

your skin falling pieces and then to dust

To be there, alone, to be there is no more.

In a room of soot where white flowers bloom.

 

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