Slate Poem by Faith Duston

Slate eyes burn into mine
Sharper than a knife
Piercing me down to the bone
Chills run down my spine
Ice running
Along the dead center
of my back
They hold more than anybody could imagine
Metal molding secrets
Molten as the lock is forged
Hidden from all
Discovered only by those
Who wait
And look deep enough
To find the lock
Break it
And let those hard metal eyes
Go molten red
For even a little while
While you delve
To find the raw wounds
That you attempt to heal
Only to find that some wounds
Never heal quite right
But you toil away anyway
Hoping that someday
With love and time
Those wounds will go away
Fade like fog
As the morning sun
Rises, unrelentlessly.