THE BONES OF THE POEM

Beyond what I can see
I feel
the fire wrathful
eating heart and soul
old memories rigid
in the light of day     darkness
caches shadows
in the soul of night
they die in too much light

it is like that with me
I bide within a skeleton
of words     defining all
the pain     the purpose
promises and passion
that I hide with smiles

I walk the miles between
the truth and lies
and seek to speak
beyond the walls of home
all that I am or hope
to be
in the bleached
and brittle bones
of the poem.

Susan A. Katz (all rights reserved)

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