torn from the flesh

Something the poet wrote when dealing with a personal crisis.

torn from the flesh

he spoke
he broke
and the pieces fell like leaves
in an autumn shower
the power unplugged
as the ground was hugged
by the air
seeking solace in the dirt

no more
he swore
still sore with the teething grief
of splintered mysteries
as the histories fell in place
like a puzzle of a stranger's face
finally
making sense of the hurt

the pain
can't drain
and thus the pressure builds
beyond the predicted curve
where every nerve should rip
and a keystone shall slip
to let fall
the palace to a rubble, inert


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.