This face on the ground
With debris all around,
If it had a mouth
What would it say?
If eyes, what would it see today?
The stealer of identity
A silencer of secrecy.
It becomes anyone and anything,
As swiftly as the past takes wing,
It can be everyone and no one.
And nothing and all blood.
There behind its simple facade,
It laughs, and pretends to be God.
Posted in Musing
Tagged blood, eyes, face, God, ground, identity, laugh, mask, poem, poetry, secret, wing
I gave you wings and then you died,
Without having a chance to fly.
The hand that stares into the sky,
While life is slowly passing by.
As a slowly sinking ship in the rain,
Above and below the waters prevent gain,
Passing no doors to escape pain.
Closed doors, closed windows, all the same.
You will never know the clouds,
From behind that darkened shroud.
You’ll won’t feel the sun on your face, above the ground.
Six feet under, listening for the sound,
Of the final bells, calling you home.
There, wait for me while I bury your bones.
You first, but soon I’ll join your soul,
After my work done and I’ve paid my toll.
Stone arise, take shape and form.
I am your master, though I was born.
I am your shaper, I am the arm.
Arise and keep me safe from all harm.
Sleeping stone thats knows only death,
To you, I give thee my lifes breath.
Live, breathe, obey my commands,
You shall not move from where you stand.
Wind and waters, you bow to none.
Before their first try, let them be done.
Become an all-barrier, all barriers break down,
Obey until I send you back underground.