. . . And We Stood Tall


With the morning slipping through
velvet curtains burgundy and frayed,
rays running down
the scar on his chest, he dressed
battle ready, his leather boots with
blood dried on the soles

He shrugged on the red jacket,
ran his bony fingers over the
dented bronze buttons
Never stopped to meet my gaze

There was a night spent
atop the heavy covers on a
burning July night picking
shrapnel from each other’s hair
exchanging lines of poetry
with Sherry on the breath

Our skin was once
shards of broken wine bottles
green and red
tiny bits of jagged blades that
captured candlelight

Now we taste of
sour crème brulee left out
on the window sill
the insides greened,
steaming and bubbling
oozing out maggot eggs

And yet
we found each other in
crowded rooms hot with
bodies and booze
found our ways into
the crooks of each other’s lives

He never had the time for love,
it was something we agreed
would only last a moment,
a moment that he won’t let end

This great man this
shining Apollo
called off to war
valor burning in his eyes                                                                            
as I await
his
glorious
fall

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About Ericka Becks


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Eri, when she isn't working at hunting dragons and or re-living tales of old, she writes. In the brief moments that this work is somehow good, she weaves tales of magic- sometimes mermaids, sometimes gods- into your heart, mind, and occassional dreams.
1 comments
Discussion
  3 years ago
This is perhaps the most dark, but honest, poem I've read in the last year or so. Well done.

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