Sticks and Stones
Sticks and Stones

I sit under shadowed trees and listen
to voices with no face
I drink the absence of your presence
ice drops flowing down without a trace

A doubt fly across my thoughts
like a raven from a grave
a doubt that I will take you,
again into my sacred space

a world without you is my morphine
where your words will never set
to muddy another’s innocence
no more cheeks burned and wet

I saw you eat your own
like a shark its siblings in the womb
I saw you the day you went to your prison
I saw it slowly become your tomb

sticks and stones, my dear

(c) 2018 Allen Wolfie Simpson

inspired by cruel intentions and dangerous liaisons

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