I spoke without a breath
It echoed all the ones I laid to rest
I pulled out every knot
And quietly abandoned what I sought

They grow from empty seeds
Their roots take hold of me
Sink beneath my nails
A whisper that impales

I move from silent scenes
Cutting out the rivers at the seams
I purge this aching well
As the water fills the place I dwell

Stoic Poetry

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s