micropoetry page 01Mature

God, I just want to break my knuckles open
to let out the stars burning inside.  Crack into
my ribcage to give the flower bed some light.
There are planets and suns burning in my bones.
God, is this a sin?  To want to free
the universe I can feel expanding in me?


I am a condemned church
filled with make-shift graveyards.
Only nameless bones are buried here,
only ghosts who’ve touched strangers enough
to warrant a quiet little nameless grave.


Quietly we tether ourselves
to these sinking ships,
let the sea swallow us too.
Maybe in the depths we’ll find answers,
maybe in the sea we’ll find peace.

The End

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