deepundergroundpoetry.com

A deal with nothing less

 
These are the days, love—  
the blissful, beating days  
slashing through the house  
 
shattering the barren stairs  
up to husbands, brothers  
children, filling the hollows  
in rooms, in hearts  
 
oh, those sleeping Gods  
in heavy beds, how they pray
into the corners of a silent hearth.  
 
These are the days love—  
the crashing, hurricane days  
ravishing me at the root  
 
ripping cobwebs from a chest  
that dance way down  
in the Marie Celeste  
 
crushing rubble  
into an open mouth  
so we may know the taste of stone.  
 
These are the days, love—  
the unapologetic, endless days  
slamming barren, haunted shores  
 
broken and bowing beneath waves  
knowing to surrender will be fine  
if only for the gift of writing it all  
until the blunting of time.
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