A Sacrifice

art is what satisfies the soul

The poison 

filling the body.

Silence, 

everyone’s sleeping.

From the clouds 

and skies 

come angels,

flying.

The sharp knife, 

the hand 

in the womb,

the stretching,

the killing.

God’s red water:

the new kind 

of sacrifice.

The cotton, 

the deep cut,

the angel’s hand

inside her,

the needles.

They alter 

everything�"

they go,

completing 

their command,

bringing God 

what had been 

sacrificed.

When it’s nighter: 

hits, hurts.

The sound,

The crack,

The cry,

The door.

Venom

Closed Eyes

Cotton

Curled Up

Towels

Red Water 

What happened?

Was it anger? 

Depression?

Couldn’t take it 

anymore.

Take what?

Something wasn’t right.

Anything could’ve happened:

The two girls are sleeping.

Reviews

[LouisianaBird]

By golly!!! I cant stop reading. Your concise powerful lines hit me good.

[EMMIE]

Woooooah! That was intense, to say the least! I like the word play here, simple words yet they hit you so hard with so much power. Great write!

[Sebastian Romero]

Thank you very much, I do appreciate it :)

[M P Ramesh]

sebastian,

It is the dream which is nourished and created by writers, it is said in one poem from Sanskrit. I am not sure everytime the sage is true. Often the " PRAGNA" it is called or the present mindedness catch up with the writers and they are subjected to do the act....writing...... But it is not a botheration for readers whether it is a subject of dream or otherwise. The reader is supposed to travel inside anything which the writer has left behind. The writer has also no such dilemma as he/she is out of the game once it is created. " Anything could have happenced...." sure it is enigmatic that is whay it is called poem.
Excellent attempt...
carry on..........................


M P Ramesh