Clawed

Again.
And always.

Hanging by a thread…
clawing up
from the edge
of the abyss.

Full moon rise
hints at warm
gets high
and crumbles like packed snow.

Upstairs there is frost
blooming in flowers
that catch its light
splintered and frozen.

And the barren shadows
lengthen,
and we must wait,
or trick ourselves
back into something like hope.

And you are
a kind man —

a nudge
toward solid ground.

But the clever,
always pushing
against the barriers,
finds his way through —
the thief
twists the wires.

So bereft
of all but instinct,
we feed them,
we shelter and clothe them,
we sing them to sleep.
And until the time turns,
this will have to do.

Advertisements

About Emily

I may or may not have: A. Dirt B. Ink C. Paint D. Wool under my fingernails.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: