Dirt Eating


The burden
of prayers and curses
flung at open-wide plains
come home to roost,
lacquered upon layers
they hang on me, bind me,
challenge and morph my
persona until I seethe
in my mortality.

I did not ask
for this role. No,
I never volunteered.
But the blood in my
veins was spun long
ago to accept, every
generation a chosen,
every progeny unfailing.

All that is left
to me is to harbor
every cry uttered
until my frame sifts
to dust, and my animus
returns again, enduring.


First Published by: Full of Crow
Publication Date – July 24, 2017
Issue # – Spring/Summer 2017
Link to my poem




About Reality's Bellow

I like to ponder life's eccentricities. I don't really want to explain them or even understand them, just ponder...
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