Carl PortenFrom

Poetry By Carl Porten

The day sorrow evicted...

Her spear, hand made
broke the light of the day,
securing her caution
while leedin’ the way...

...out of the rubble
she gazed standin’ there,
as each breath filled her lungs
with the poisonous air, but.

She needs food...
She needs water.
An’ all kinds of things
for her son an’ sick daughter,

the list in her mind,
fades in a mist,
and’s replaced by a man
an’ the taste of his lips.

Was a long time ago,
an’ since time’s brought no guests.
The day sorrow evicted,
the love her heart kept...

Quickly her fingers
fumbled to find,
an’ wrap ‘round her head
to pull the straps tight,

exhaling a breath
to clear her insides,
through a gas mask that gives her
a clean breath this time...

There’s no time for sorrow,
she knows her own children,
may be two of the last,
...of the eight point three billion.

...What have we done?


Poetry © 2022 Carl Porten

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