Mother Nature
rips at her horizon
thick scarlet wound
seizes our undeveloped skin
burns us from within
we hide our faces behind
translucent hands
release us
A thousand times we've seen
A thousand pictures worth
A thousand words
then turn and paint ourselves
in shiny hues of imitation
but only on the outside, so
we cut ourselves
from wooden frames
Fall from grace
and steal back into the night
praying that when we die
closing our eyes
we might open them again
beyond blood red skies
be pulled from this blackened womb
and one day be born of light.
©2013 Carole-Lyn Catron
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