The Burning Days

I don't remember much since I woke up

but in my dreams, I could still run

the sun was still yellow

but the ground was grey

the snow in the air was only ashes of the burning days

it doesn't pay to grind my bones

every step is a retch of stone on stone

and I'm alone in this struggle

limping for survival

a marathon gone around the bend of trouble

I'm one side stepped crooked

into a straightened corkscrew

into my joints on the sharpened side

I'm widened by worry

two feet far apart

planted firmly on each side of the canyon

it's been a long time gone

since the bottom fell out

and I've been standing here

as the river grande

washed out the rocks and ate the sand

how will I know if these feathers fly

until I lose my grip on the slippery sky?

nothing tells me that something is coming

I'm like lead in my bed

and my bones are thinning

but in my dreams, I'm running...

 

 

© Steve Skafte

 

 

My books on BLURB:

Long Time, No Sea and

Stray Cat in a Straitjacket

 

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