cry

Callum Featherstone

Cursed

Waters splurge.
Flowing out, from Her words.

Soaking in perturbed nerves.
So much so, Her verbs churn.

Waters break, unearthed berths.
No later. It’s the worst first.

She’s ‘well’ versed.
As the droplets fall down her cheeks below.

And, She’s wet through from her cascades.
Sweat, dew from her last waves.

Eyes are holes ’cause they have burst.
Cursed.

She’s cried her weight from her vast caves.
Dehydrate. Despite bay’s spate.

Her eyes are holes ’cause they have burst.
Cursed.

And, when they ask Her,
“How are you these days?”

All the while,
She smiles and says,

like, the rain;
“I’m fine.”


© poormansdreams

Callum Featherstone

marching worlds, january’s faces.

stuck
betwixt the tread,
of;

two marching worlds.

weathered, weary brows.
eclipsed grimaces,
curled.

the gravity,
en-masse –
renders souls stomped.

drudging.

unequal, obtuse gaits.
hateful, stubborn heels;

dug in.

taking steps,
to alleviate;

the-ever-climbing-stress.

fallen
– on deafened ears.
forsaken, and, too inwardly –
obsessed.

obsessed –
by the trampling hoof,
of;

right, and,
wrong.

right, left, right, left.

foot on the neck
of a swan’s;

final song.

and, the two jaded faces of
january;

cry,

down to their single-file –
soles
of white.

measuring
irreparable ill-treament
in feet, and, inches;

dark, and, light.