Collateral damage

woken by hunger;
a void, vacuum leaking tears
seeking fulfillment.
not enough words in the world
or beyond that would suffice

the aftermath of
overload, a mother-lode
of familiar
mines ever so precisely
placed, set, hair-triggered, waiting

almost beautiful
when wrong-footed unwary
questions detonate
lovely plumes of cratered soul
with shrapnel of shattered love

and I'm f l  y   i    n     g   .    .    .     .

Reviews

[.]

~ wow... my heart skipped so many beats i can't count them... that last stanza and the closing line are particularly overwhelming and consuming... and i want to say... ah, so it's called "shrapnel of shattered love"... why is alliteration the best buddy of those of us who are "fly i n g . . . ." ? ... ~ is it because of the music in similar sounding words or is it because of something else... something that makes you write exquisite poetry... even when all is not alright... i wonder...

[Pete Langley]

This is superb imagery in a spare, vital poem with " mines ever so precisely placed". Super. P.