I bleed it.
In gallons and then not at all.
It drowns my soul.
It pools on the floor on my kitchen.
Words linger everywhere...trapped in the dust
of my mind and memories
they swallow me.
I become them.
And they eat me.
But, just so you know, I am not a poet.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Recurrent Dream
life bumps against me
thumping edges of darkness
consuming my mindfulness...
stories of faith restore
cracks in the clay
water continues seeping
leaving puddles of mud
I feel the Potter's hand
and caressing touch
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