Poem – “Oh, Child in Emptiness” – Romanticism – 11/24/2020

Pule,
He does,
Beside his mother, forever.
Just a cold bed
With his tears turned to ice,
Causing lakes
To roam
For the village’s consumption,
Melting with his dying life,
Fevered by melancholy.

Can she
Hold the winds, together,
With another pair of arms?
She holds him,
A kiss to warm his head,
A face divine as the dust
Atop her shoulders.

Will he
Cry loud enough,
That the world might hear?
A face,
A dying curtain
Leaving majesties behind
With their books as torn carcasses,
Just the dust to fill a void.

They bleed words through their bibles,
Seeding oceans of ebony.

She breaks the bread,
He had sought
From arms, cold to touch,
To speak the crumbs to his mouth
As soft whispers.

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