Aluminium Bones
I've bound these wounds with the shapes of stars,
Cut out faces, drab and dull,
Sapling wings sprout empty dreams,
Bones are broken, ripped machines.
Yellow sea, trojan voice,
The ever intruding enemy force,
Snap and brittle, the metal shapes,
Sat in skies beyond black and empty space.
Aluminium dirty limbs,
Chosen thoughts inside of me.
I grab these scars and tear them off,
Consume flesh that could've once been me,
I'm no Technicoloured dream,
But a soft and fragile, uncertain sea.
The End
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THE GOODS
You're currently reading the poem
Aluminium Bones, which
was posted on Nov 13, 2008 by
PaulMacklin.
This is a collaborative poem.
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