The life of Mortals
We scar like C-sections in difficult labors
As though it was the only natural thing
As though stitches were made to run through flesh
To remind us that we are nothing more than dust
We burn like we have the 'Highly Flammable’ ideogram
Painted on our foreheads
Like we have gasoline swimming beneath our skin
Blocking arteries and veins from breathing
We hurt like cancerous bones in chemo
As though torture was the path to healing
As though pain and suffering were the foundation
Of our wretched existence
We lie like we were born with nothing but counterfeit truths
Written on our palms misleading fortune tellers
And palm readers into believing that there’s more to us
Than confused lines overlapping across our hands
We live just to die like animals as though we were godless heathens
As though life and death both held the same meaning
And that tomb stones were just a final reminder
That without breath we couldn’t be anything more……
(2013)
This is actually the first of three poems concerning pain and healing
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