Poetry thursday

Because maybe all I felt was cold hands

and the slow beat of my heart

as I call out the numbers


Which beat out like drums;the only voices which had not been silenced.


I wont lie the weight of the voices

is the drum beat to my numbness


Because maybe all I hope to be is

frozen finger tips, blue lips, bruised hips,

counting down the numbers.


I know you think its selfish

That I chose to traipse through darkness

But maybe the journey towards light

Can guide others to enlightment.


I don’t know why I feel safe in digits

That dignify this madness.

The warmth of souls breathing concern

Pulls me out like magnets.


Yet I cannot discern why in incandescent days

that hold me in such kindness

I’m still shaking of the numbers.












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