I have a wound that seeps-
it’s ugly and unkind; I beg it not to speak-
it haunts me still, so I lay quietly,
stitching my lips together, so that my tongue,
my greatest infliction, cannot destroy you.


I've sealed my worth in the grave,
(headstone-less)
forgotten to remember the years
that made me, fat on dreams-
now I recall nothing of worth or distinction-
only that one morning, I woke
fallen from heaven,
without wings to canopy my sulking head;
if only I would of put them to some use.


I bring roses to my tomb-
red ones, yellow ones, grey ones even-
the cathedral glass streaked tears,
the footsteps of some foreign god
disturbed the bells-

In a glass I collected rain
then cut my finger to add to it, the flavor of pain-
I watched as one tiny dropp of life, rippled
from center to circumference-
The ground drank poison from my hand:
flowers wilted and trees withered,
children aged and bonds were severed-
then I wept, for I was alone, except
for one colorless rose,
stem without petal lay at my feet-
but soon it died too, and for death,
I loved my tragedy.

Amberlee Carter

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-slow-walk-in-the-evening/