365 Days of Poetry: Day Fifty-Three

far away, the gods.
sit on their wooded thrones and laugh.
pulling the strings,
sending their leaves,
to fall apart in our midst.

the detritus of longing.
consumes the savage and the prim.
dusting our foreheads,
spreading to hearts,
to burst them all in our bodies.

far away, my mother.
sits on her throne and laughs.
forgetting her daughter,
dissolving her brain,
to die and leave a vacant home.

About June Faramore

Writer of fantasy, mainstream, and young adult fiction. Poet and sketcher. Mother. I read a lot and love cheese. Guitar playing singer-songwriter. I also enjoy stepping on the cracks in the sidewalk. View all posts by June Faramore

this side, that side

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