a Gethsemane of the Mind

fresh-grave

society’s child
deprived, then depraved
then departed
not much fanfare

just an unmarked grave
a torn rose
with a stemmed tide
representing the thorns of life

the young garden
with a flowered headstone
just a brick from the alley
where he slept

rest in pieces of heart
his worn cold from disuse
“love” not ever a word on his lips
but he mumbles much else

before departing,
deprived, then depraved
in restless prayer
to sleep through his poverty

which for him might be
the rest of his life.


© erin-cilberto, 2015

public domain photo

an undertone
Dances on the Edge