Love and Words

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the language of famine

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Cry my soul

and call back to me

all that is dead 

and lost,

join my body 

to what has been.


Save me from this wastel'nd.


On streets filled with sand,

no life grows  

no food can be found.


A starving body knows no comfort

and can see nothing but what can ease its pang.

It believes itself forgotten by gods and man.

It knows no hope but to return to what has been.


People speak in tongues

quilted by thirst.


Famine destroys even words.


And starving we teach,

that life means nothing,

that the honorable man 

is the one who refuses to exist.


We teach that ages before were wrong,

or worse,

that they were blessed.


The only hope left to us,

is to seek calm before 

inevitable death.


I knew you when you were young,

before the great Famine came.


A starving body reveals cavities where flesh should strain.

No fat pads the bone on which the body stands.

Existence grinds.

Every moment passes in pain.


Bones worshipped can become prisons.

Bones ignored brittle bleached things.

The spaces between,

where all that was has escaped,

contain nothing.


I knew you when you were young,

before the great Famine came.


We have met before you and I,

only our efforts were not in meeting,

but in trying to prevent,

the traces of our herds from tangling.


What I would give

to see the past in terms of diamonds

and coal,

to forget the complications.

To have the child returned to me

that knows no beginning or end.


The child I have spent a lifetime

destroying.


What is memory

that it can be so easily undone?

That we would rather fight wars

than examine 

the past as it transforms and becomes

soil rich food for the future yet born.


From princes and queens

we have become shepards in search of rain.

In deserts we stand,

deserted seas,

trying to remember

the cities we share in our dreams.

Cities that echo desolate with the drum of our waking.


Gods of thought sit in empty temples.

No sacrifice offered on altars these.

No blood spilled or laments sung.

No great heroes on quests leave.


Our lives suffer governance from what little 

we have come to believe,

and a life spent with Famine

teaches you to expect strange things.


Such is the law of the land.


Cry my soul

and call back to me

all that is dead 

and lost,

join my body 

to what has been, 

save me from this wastel'nd.

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decagon          poetry

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