 |
| artwork by Eoin MacLochlainn |
You let loose your crows
to pluck the grains from my splintered heart
I stand in the field
cracked and open
Bones escaping skin
Blood colored earth
red clay beneath my collapsed form
A broken scarecrow
Plucked too clean
to even crawl away
I tried to protect what was mine
But your talons were razors
against my flesh
Your beak too acute
Go on and scatter the seeds
of my trust
Your garden will grow to be
such an attractive quilt of lies.
submitted for Sunday Whirl, Wordle 206
