I look down at the dark cavity
of all that is left of my chest
and heart.
I've been picked clean.
The beat of black wings,
as the carrion eater
leaves.
I am roadkill.
I would call it back,
but without your light,
I cannot draw breath to cry.
I would see it leave,
but without your breath,
the light is gone from my eyes.
I would beckon it to stay,
but without your sight,
I am nothing,
but carrion leavings.
A day, and a week.
A day, and a month.
A day, and years four-score,
an immortal's lifespan and more.
And the sun's warm kisses,
and the sky's soft tears,
couldn't put to right,
this absence of your light.
This trial,
too much for my humbled frame.
The sound of approaching wings.
I welcome the return of this tormenting pain.
Better that than this
absence.
As always, this piece is dedicated to @mamadini, who gives me light to see by.
Thanks to all the Isle of Write members who gave feedback on this piece: @whoshim, @jrhughes, @carmalain7, @authorofthings, @themadrunnah, and @dbooster
Check out my latest pieces:
- When Stories Leave Us Behind – Empathy and The Narratives of Adaptations
- Acceptance - A poem.
- And Also the Moon - A poem.
The image used in this post is Gustav Doré's Jacob Keeping Laban's Flock, 1866, and is Public Commons. For those who need some help, that is when he saw Rachel for the first time.
art and flair courtesy of @PegasusPhysics
© Guy Shalev 2018.