Cradle Me (Silence) Poem by Leon Moon

A heat beaten dog,
I pace,
Poor and unspoken
The workman's fault,
He uses no tool
To embed nails beneath my skin
And so, I collapse;
A rubber hook,
No answers can be caught
But only felt
- Felt inside the inherent
Black space
Of stitched wood,
Where the limp body seeks
And breaths.

Mother gasps,
Her child gave an answer
To swollen knee efforts
Of routine prayer;
Glacier flesh and bitter blood
The answer stained, on her oak-glazed floor,
Blemished with trauma
Of splintering comforts
- His shirt forever uncreased
Lullabies singed
By the tainted iron taste
Of her own sons blood
Which shouts the answer
Of silence.