It was something drawn in the sand;
lines of disambiguation
drawn in shades of the sun.
Sometimes cutting like paper.
Crushed with a ballpeen hammer
it knows not the exuded blood
that spatters and pops.
Drawn in the garden of grains
the rays of the sun ignite
that last ounce of me which was won.
© 2007 Sepulcrawl
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Printed from www.DarkPoetry.com/dp/8247/96786 on Monday July 07th, 2008 01:43 AM
Certain elements © 1996-2008 Matthew Steven (matts.org)
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