Catharticism – a poem

Let it be. Watch the pulse beat

‘Neath the skin and flutter madly

As booted feet press upon marsh

Earth sun baked to a firmness warm,

The cave of noise swarms, torn,



Snow has known the broken fragments

Vibrating at rates lesser found,

Bare known by regular human ken

Hollowed out as curses of old

Within trees shockingly aged, evilly



Olden stories fractured and sold,

Happiness transitory hale held,

Catharsis in the passing of one

To another, older than old,

Stories told through red blood slick



Time heals many wounds, more still

Than those of dubious charlatanry

With promises of etheric connection

Substantiated by nowise wonders;

Winsome, we wind away over years,


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