Had I dallied longer in my bed
I would not have to come to meet you

laid to rest
in this grotesque indignity

I would not have had to wonder
how you, commander of the skies,
lie here at odds with it,
with buried eyes
and talons cold with curses

I know the truth is simple
as life’s cycles of birth and death,
the changing unchanging
tides of triumph and tragedy
and yet

I lay blame
on vengeful winds and fickle fates

I look for answers
in the eyes of these frost-bitten skies

I cast questions into the sea
as they come back to me empty

I wish peace
upon this sorry grave

and hope
upon some future one

 

 

 

 

 

Photo by Sophia Louw on Unsplash