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Score | 80
In Literature, Writing and Blogging • 1 min read •
Beneath their tread
<p><br/></p><p>"<strong>Tiptoe Tiptoe</strong></p><p>Let's run on the wet soil of mom's grave.</p><p>Shall we dig a hole with the hoe?</p><p>Or just mark this spot, leave it engraved?"</p><p><br/></p><p>The voices of my children echo overhead</p><p>While my back lies plastered beneath their tread.</p><p>I cannot cradle them or kiss each brow.</p><p>I just hover above since this is my life now.</p><p><br/></p><p>I'm only below, nourishing the earth</p><p>placed inside my newly made home.</p><p>My flesh is cold,</p><p>My spirit drifts up to where they play,</p><p>And my soul?</p><p>It's everywhere and nowhere both the same.</p><p><br/></p><p>I'm conscious of my body turning to manure,</p><p>My bones growing bare...</p><p>Only slivers of light reach me from the nail holes.</p><p>And the worms come for this free carcass.</p><p><br/></p><p>I kept my lamp unlit while there was oil,</p><p>and now I lie restless in the dark.</p><p>Above me, the laughter thins to wind.</p><p>LORD, give me one day </p><p>and I'll spend it on their foreheads.</p><p><br/></p><p><br/></p><p><img alt="" src="/media/inline_insight_image/1000185567.jpg"/></p><p><br/></p><p><br/></p><p><br/></p><p><br/></p><p>...TomiTheWordPecker.📝🐦‍⬛</p>

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