Tuesday, April 13, 2010


The worms multiply
in the rain
with bare hands
scrapes into the basket.
The mud is resistant
it has no feelings
no cares about the day
it only resists.
The world is broken
we turn our backs
on the mud
that flows into our lives.
There is more fluidity
than the gods have foretold
they won’t let me
scavenge for usefulness.
The dirt gets inside me
feeling ungodly and foolish
we cover with soil
this embarrassment.

Standing alone
under the gunship
the bullets wiz by
I run in terror.
This not my war
not my politics
still they shoot at me
and I continue to run.
We bury the dead
amidst the wreckage
of our lives
bullet riddled and burnt.
We walk through
the dead forest
trees are fallen soldiers
black and ash.
We prepare for the shock
of the future
the wolf is at our heels
snatch away the new day.

Total devastation
the rockets roar above
my head
deadly with accuracy.
There is no prejudice
in their aim
they kill all
in their path.
This is why we run
and dig holes in the mud
we cover our heads
and hide.
Waiting for death to come
and snatch us
from the living
and the grieving.
We have lost so much
the loosing becomes easy
it becomes a pattern
of our life
and death.

© Deep Piercing Cut 2008

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