Babylon County | I smelt that familiar iron-tang from my deep...

I smelt that
familiar iron-tang from my
deep southern reach:
I took my hand,
reaching forth, finding
that there would
be no cry, no child’s wail
in a few turnings of the
mother moon; now I wept,
oh, how I wept
as that little once-live
trickled down my thighs
in the place of that very
budding fleur;
I, the never-mother, mourning,
showering, I wept, oh such sorrow!
my loss and blood
down our silver drain,
feeling clip-winged, bereft and
utterly ruined
by that iron-tang,
that horrid smell
of death - decay -
that horrid, iron-refrain;
that bitter emptiness
which remains unchanged.

(Source: etheleato)

3 notes