When Horror in the Body Knows

  Twists and turns,
Echoes of the turbulent wind
Blowing through dry days….
Endpoints, branches bending, broken
Under weight of burning haze.
Demented names contain disjointed pain—
One brief look conveys the tortured soul
When finally horror in the body knows.
We try to see the paradox— dry bones,
Roots of what reaches into deep unknown—
Attempt to construct theodicy
From only unseen wind and dust….
Solemnly we rise and pray for rain,
Each distant cloud a hope—
Strive in living of our days
To grow beyond what we can’t forget.


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