Wednesday, January 13, 2010

Dolores

despair

stains the floor

everywhere

her bare feet

meet the polished wood,


slowly seeping

colorless

toward the walls.


each breath expelled

smells hot

of anguish

aged and ripe.


shards of flashing

sharp and light

slice the air

around her,

entice

with glittering

promise

of pain.


do not be drawn

into her eyes.

do not mistake

that hollow depth

for need.


there is nothing

here

for you.

6 comments:

Woman in a Window said...

oh my~

christopher said...

Blood Trail

I tried to help you
on the long shadowy trail
where all the blood spilled
and covered the tracks
we tried to follow as if
God walked here, was first
to leave small footprints
before that army followed,
scuffed away all sign.

jonnia said...

Wonderful, Christopher! I know this trail and that army, as well.

Gerry Boyd said...

stark and powerful.

She Writes said...

Wow, this was amazing! I am so glad to have found you and will add you to my reading list immediately!

Woman in a Window said...

Reading you again to understand - as you've so dramatically changed your site and your profile picture. Here you are.

This poem is every bit as powerful today.

xo
erin