Like King Solomon’s Mines

How many have died,

hanging in despair from your rib-cage?

Do you keep their names?

Those who fell traversing the deserts of your diaphragm

did they know it was futile?

When they trudged, seeking your rumoured heart.

El Dorado.

Do you say a prayer when you bury them

at the edge of your lungs?

What would they say if they knew

your smile still glows wide?

Still traps those who can’t see

your teeth are gravestones.

Image source

A single golf clap? Or a long standing ovation?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.