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.