That Bears Our Name

i can only taste scars tonight,
ashes, and blood turned to wine.
that old tree, cut and fallen,
the sound of wings long absent.
the web is empty,
and even the wind doesnt reply.
the garden mourns its time of passing,
and the plow is left alone.
sometimes we wake up homeless,
hungry without needing to eat.
to find that we are orphaned,
by the very heart that bears our name!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!