Tuesday, May 21, 2013

The Sinkholes Yet Succumbed

Hours spell the seconds
Past the minutes which we dwell

Footprint swallows footprint
Upon this path becoming, a brittle, shallow shell

Phonetic lacerations
Pronounce their truths in blood

A blistering apocalypse
Inscribed by quivered thumbs,
Leave us here abandoned,
Forcing forth the question,
“Just how far is it that we’ve come”

                  It’s quite natural, to fear the answers questions form,
Tomorrow’s but another speck, connecting what we want, to where we’ve just come from
By sinkholes yet succumbed.
…Be still thy bitter tongue…

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