Words counting off - Slowly Burnt

a poem by Dale Costello, Australia - poetry writer, author, poet

We are born
the same way
pale flames of a night
flesh covered suns
flailing, where thought turns to dream,
dancing, in a yard overgrown with weeds
these humans, captives of a day
while Im merely drawn to:
an image I can barely see
faded in a wallet,
their songs reverberate
I remain apart
if you listen closely
you can hear existence mocking time
words counting off
a nothing
too pure for the everything disturbed
definitions slowly burnt into ashes
by a warm indifferent day.

We are made
of a particular clay
a flesh we will fight
with ink, scars and adornment
hurting, the pain merging with scream
squatting, in a place now condemned
these ghosts, tortured by the way
sometimes, I can feel it too:
a love I barely remember
names faded in print
people became and then reworked
if you ask me
I will laugh
words counting off
incidental of the nothing immortalised
definitions carved into existence
by a strange discoloured decay.

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