Disjointed Pieces, Bits Of Torn

Disjointed pieces, bits of torn
And butchered flesh, strewn randomly
Around a battle field of smoking dun:
These, these present verses, so I willed
So my Muse willed dictating to my mind
Sub-conscious all unconsciously:
She led me to the desert, and there
Parched and burnt
I asked her for her water which she gave
I imbibed it without a look at it:
And in the night the cold fell from the skies
And in the night the desert vultures came
And in the night the desert wolves did howl
And in the night the desert strangeness came
Appearing like a mist, a restless ghost:
And in the night the cold fell from the skies.

poem by Emmanuel George Cefai
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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