Personal :: Poetry

Knowledge of Good and Evil

We have drunk the sweet poison of language.
Words have taken us prisoner.
All that is left is the frantic worship and weak cries
that do little but reveal our blindness.
Speech leaves a smear of rust and
purple rot on the breeze of life,
And we'll never know when the kiss killed-
and none ask-
but we all still recall
dazzling wild fire
beneath delicate green water
In our still voiceless dreams.

.: :: personal :: poetry :.