Horror Story Poem by Sheena Blackhall
Horror Story
I dismember the past like a butcher
My hands sticky with blood
The hatchet in my hand
Performs a hopeless autopsy
The present cowers in terror,
The stink of loss and guilt in its wake
I visit the thorny bush, remembrance
Like a crow, seeking its nest
No solace in its shadows
No rest, no rest
Friday, July 27, 2018
Topic(s) of this poem: mourning
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5/5/2024 8:30:26 PM # 1.0.0.1119
We need to cast off our shadows but they are gummed to our souls. A very powerful poem.