With iron lungs

A Poem by Danielle Browne

It is utterly terrifying

living on a globe like this one,

with its coffee-like soil that holds so many secrets

Or the polluted words we speak and let float away from our mouths

and into the oxygen.

When we die, our skin turns into a suit

and our blood to wine.

Even with iron lungs like they all so proclaim

nobody believes it.
But everyone knows

that for this short while on this tainted planet we hate so much,

we are crumbs in a stadium,

entirely insignificant like the last thing you just said.

I am waiting for my day to come

when the sand and grain meet at the bottom of an unholy cylindrical measuring system,

I do not feel as though I am living.

© 2017 Danielle Browne

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Writergurl

Or the polluted words we speak and let float away from our mouths
and into the oxygen.
When we die, our skin turns into a suit
and our blood to wine.
Even with iron lungs like they all so proclaim

LOVE THIS SO MUCH,
quite the interesting read here, and intriguing. I enjoyed this this write a lot