Battered Cells

 

Painted alive

temple or shrine

to repair with healing plants,

it shall then dine,

mugwort

and milk thistle

and a prayer

of mercy or two.


To pay for

what's past due

is the secret

that lies

in you.


Yes,

the secret that lies in you

is written in a tinge

when desperation

was impinged

to keep

from becoming

unhinged,

the immensity

internalized.

Well, it really

makes me cringe...


The pain

went underrecognized,

but it had to move,

a soldier in disguise

though a butterfly...

with a combat shield

in snow-layered fields,

with not much to yield

and fragility concealed...


How long could it go on?

How long could a bandage last?

How long could plaster be cast

with sweat and tears

under the mask?


And now beneath the shell

lies a battered

bunch of cells.

At the mercy,

at the gate,

this body can

no longer

wait.


2015


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