Poems from Myther
Curling tight
my back facing the sun
knees to my eyes
and hands held tight
feet tucked under
pressed into the wall
hiding
fearing
not...
I'll sleep when I'm dead
when my corpse is cooling
my eyes are blank
and my hands barely curling
the red flush leaking
like the last dregs...
Ginger and Persimmons
the scent of desert far
mixed with spice and orient
of mystery
and of death
the wisdom
of a dying man
held beneath...
rose scented tea
wafting from the cup
placed so gently
on the maple table top
porcelain pot
and sloping sides
of a gentry type
delicate...
Horror is an empty word
Loss, Bereavement
Terror, Desperation
Torment
all are such empty words
There are no words
not in English, Arabic...