Through the markets of North Africa
I hear your hum
like a bassnote in the things we never lost -
(greed, a fear to die,
but you are) life
resonating in every dish;
every loaf of bread sent off to war
holds hope in the seed and the grain.
Anchor us to the ground again,
(you can but try.)
Crescent moon waxing
like the curve of a pregnant belly;
crescent moon waning
like a pharaoh's closing eye.
Like Midas we touch you,
and you are gold in our light.
YOU ARE READING
Fields of Asphodel
PoetryA poetry collection inspired by mythology, nature, and poetry itself. The style will be a bit different to what I wrote for Clockwork Lives, but I feel personally that it is an improvement. :)
