My Word

Standard

I was waking up every night
in frightened hands.

For this, the sands of my heritage
drifted without wonder.

Every sky torn asunder.
Discursive blunders thundering

like furnaces in this moment
of discontent. A life spent in servitude,

shitty attitude to match.
Snatches of a fury furthered by love.

A breath above the clamor, I caught sight
of the fractured light of my word.

-r. miller

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s