The parched flower burrows
As a drill unto the earth.
Tubes made of cellulose and fiber
Clench and writhe and curl–
–A soul as desiccated as scorn-ed bones.
So too, I believe,
That the child is bruised and torn–
– That they beget lamentations
Just before they brightly burn.
Published by The Poetry of Ants
I've been writing poetry since I was little. These poems have always been my means of resolving the world as it is against the world as it should be. Writing has been my great catharsis. I hope that you and I may be able to share in that.
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The Poetry of Ants 