Poetry on Medium

Witness

Free verse spilt like oil on the seashore or dust in a wasteland

Photo by Simon Hurry on Unsplash

Did you see how they said
what shouldn’t be said
and called it wisdom?

Can’t you taste how old this story is?
Don’t touch
the scent of death in the air.

Did you hear the sun rise
over the haunted sea?
The change of the foam
from light, to sound, to memory?

You can’t help but feel
and fear, how the trees can’t grow
for the sound of our hubris…

And the birds fall away
from the burning sky
feathers and bones chittering the ground
voicing the souls of dead insects…

A rhythm like snow and
all the shades of the rainbow
spelling defeat and desolation
in a misery of colours.

Once we held or beheld
every thing … all the possibility
to enrapture.