Innocuous Noctuary

Truss the give of the bedsprings
With those tortured instruments of berth—
Striated, cracked mud— given to build a hearth out of the same
Earth you were made from.

 

Photo by Scott Murdoch from Burst

11 Comments

  1. I can relate to this poem, Ze. I’ll be 70 this year and the concept of “The Now” has never been more pronounced for me. The future isn’t here and the past is gone—I welcome every day.
    Ω

    Like

    1. That’s a great accomplishment. Getting to that age isn’t easy. I have so much respect for my elders, especially due to the amount of knowledge and life experience they possess. This piece in many ways was an ode to aging and my desire to one day reach the age of 90 and beyond. I’m glad you liked the piece. Cheers!

      Liked by 1 person

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