Poetry from Brianna Dawn.

of metals, wires, and dirt

one day we won’t feel desire
because we’ll be made of metal and wires
then we will no longer tire
of our hearts sinking in a blushing fire
tangling us in briars of shitty prose
to make us liars – yes we’re much “higher”
than the lowly dirt from which all grows
and within which all returns and goes
one day –  when – nobody knows
but dirt will be the last to show
romantic art, the only one able
to grow and pick apart
the heart of a flower in its dying hour
letting it rest, to slowly melt
into the ground – covered in a felt
made of sleeves of leaves, dust,
and every last blade of grass and wheat
i press them into pancakes with my feet
but for one fleeting moment, in a puddle i see
my reflection staring back at me
and also of the wires tucked between the clouds
with birds crowding on their shoulders,
they call, loudly – and i wonder –
what it means to truly be free
does it mean to feel desire?
or to be removed from desire?
or have desire removed from me?
i’m not quite sure,
so i just let it go
and let it be,
much like the dirt beneath my feet

written by Tiny Fawns for daily prompt: desire

3 Responses to “of metals, wires, and dirt”

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