Squaretable Seminars

it made, your soul collapsing?
Was the sound ash?

The sound was ash,
smothering like a dirt-covered fire
in feverous July.

In feverous July,
your tear-glazed eyes
saw him.

See him,
bubbling over now with wrath
but sincere in youth.

Sincere in his youth,
two small hands squeezed life.
The sound was ash.

The sound was ash.
And only you, blue,
and deadened grass felt it.

Deadened grass felt it
feathering down over shattered flesh.
Shock struck its cadence.

Shock struck its cadence
and blacked out the taste
from the cruelty of consciousness.

From the cruelty of consciousness,
comes the sound of ash,
squeezed life perverting youth,
the soul collapsing and finally acknowledging

him

bubbling over now with wrath.


© Hannah Walleser