ASHES OF MY CLAY

Ashes of my pale salts,

Like dusk wearing a mask in midnight dreams,

It is the grave aching for clay,

I see laughter through your sad face,

Your smiles mock my strength,

I will carry the growing weight of obese condemnation,

Perhaps my fleeting breath will be an anchor to the blind,



I give my nights away for thorns,

It is the friend whose last name is less,

Your unselfish courtesy,

Overwhelms my empty tummy with empty talk,

The dying reward of brotherhood rotting away,

I find solace in strangers,

For nothing in common forges the bonds,

The ignorance of need fuels the necessity to will free



The end of my clay,

I hear you announce behind my back,

You Judas me,

With your eyes pointing at mine,

I was dead before you were born,

And yet i still roam this earth,

It is not me you are seeing,

But the weak side of you.