Broken
This broken home is like a chopped tree trunk
Showing rings of life ruthlessly axed
Leaving behind an upturned patellar face of pain
Breath broken in a cinch
Its lode of warmth is plundered
Rime's leftovers straggle the trashcan like cold meat
I sense the condors circling above, in my bones
As they scavenge for the rich, juicy morsels of a home, now dead
The aged wind is weary of reviving fires so often doused
It's shoulders too weak to carry ashes heavy with severing
So this is how things break in this world
This is how hope loses altitude
There must be someone to blame
There must also be someone who will lead me back to myself
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This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem