floating and leaving no trace
three rings in a circus
with no one cracking the whip
three rings on three fingers
but who is steering this ship
the lion-tamer’s lost his head
he misjudged the lion’s maw
the clown should have stayed in his tiny car
he’s trapped beneath a weighty paw
i leave my seat and shuffle away
dragging my shoes through sawdust
these performances ended years ago
leaving nothing but haunted rust
——
when i die
i want to be wrung out
like a dish rag
every ounce of blood
every drop of salty water
squeezed out
i want to be pressure cooked
and made into ceramic bricks
that will last forever
and i want to be built into
a fireplace
where you burn logs
on cold nights
you will hear my voice
whispering in the flames
and the fire will warm my cold
brick nature
and i will feel like flesh
to your fingers
when your run your hands over me
——
it wasn’t a traditional knife
that he held in his hand
not consecrated, holy, or blessed
not even a piece of metal
honed to an edge
yet it was sharp enough
the future and the past
everything would be better
everything would be cleaner
all he had to do
was make the cut
——
The Daily Post
The Daily Prompt: Shadow
https://dailypost.wordpress.com
Words and Feathers 