A Poem by MiriamMB

That girl is a wraith

Do not speak to her.

Do not touch her.

Do not feed her a single sweet morsel.

Her hunger is unfathomably wide

I've seen it swallow kilometers of green pastures,

miles long herds of cattle.

She'll moan terribly about her parched throat

and her hundred year old thirst,

do not fetch water to quench it,

she will drink the pot, the entire well it came from,

and still reach out for the river in your mouth.

When she speaks, say nothing

let her know silence like a prisoner

knows his cell room,

If you must speak to her,

lace your kind words with pity and arsenic,

something to stop that stubborn heart

still beating dust into her collapsed veins.

she's a pestilence with a pretty stride,

one of death's many runaway brides,

locusts form the shroud around her head,

mambas form the train on her dress.

she must go back where she came from,

back into the dark,

she can't stay here,

there's no room among the living for

dead things.

© 2013 MiriamMB

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Added on May 2, 2013
Last Updated on May 11, 2013
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Denver, CO

I write, and I want a place to share my poetry, read other people's poetry and learn to grow as a writer. I want to write on more than just impulse. more..

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A Poem by MiriamMB