ENTRAILS

By Ali Stone

A past of mere offal

The ruins of a childhood were colossal.

Dreams trailed like bloodied entrails,

Shame and disgust flowed through my every vessel.

I look up from the bones of life’s carcass,

Polishing my skin that feels so tarnished,

The dreams I left as second hand carnage,

I’m starting to scatter the futures seeds to harvest,

A soul mate who believed inside lived an artist.

I see a beautiful sunset on the horizon,

that reflects her love back to me mesmerizing,

Allowing my eyes to search so inquisitive,

Our futures dance in time so Spirited.

Nurturing in my palms a vulnerable gift,

Ink’s ebbed and flowed repairing a damaged inner rift,

A murky darkness that easy lifts.


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