The dance of our past lives,
Clambering souls seek mercy.
For the wrongs of ourselves, our neighbors, our world.
The boned feet tap a frantic jive.
Dusty whisper make the music,
Creaking joints form a beat.
Tortured hearts seek the brilliant sky anew with fire.
Frantic sorry's, to bones, don't stick.
Bitter swirls of memories float through the air,
Wrapping around the frantic dancers.
They taste of flesh, warm sunshine, and life.
Away they blow, leaving ribs bare.
The walls begin to spin,
Knocking over skulls with little resistance.
Bones clatter the hard-packed floor as they separate.
A doorway opens and the rhythms quicken.
Forces pull the dancers away,
Giving sparks in to the endless dark.
Then the walls resume their post on the dance floor.
Bone music ushers in another day.
ESTÁS LEYENDO
InBetween: A Collection of Poetry
PoesíaThere is a place in this world where right is wrong, and up is down. It's called the InBetween and we live there everyday. Here are some poems from the InBetween
