Verses In Season
Poetry
Friday 7 August 2020
The Question of What I Am
lays dormant in the softest places of me,
where sleep, like a cat, shows it's exposed underbelly
which is the place my soul will go
garden or churchyard,
flowers or ash
I hold them both close.
the flowers with their muddy roots,
and the bones that make themselves known.
Newer Posts
Older Posts
Home
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)