Scattered pieces

Jigsaw pieces,
scattered seed
that fly on mountain winds
and beating wings
to sapphire sea and red soil.

No shoots emerge,
no roots put down,
they dry and fall
to powdered paper dragons
in arid desert cairns.

Or chisel inscribed whispered
in dank sea caves
in white-out graves.

All secrets blown from
fields of dust,
that saddled backs
and bloodied sculpted hands.

With granite rocks that leave
teeth smashed and slack,
words plucked
from timber tongue.

Lust for art, a fire
that cooked,
my spleen.
Pulled sweat and curses
from my mouth.
Until I took a pen,
sharp and curved
and cut it dripping
from my chest

A hard flogged youth
spent pursuing wishes,
not my own!

The pushing and pulling,
the shoving.
Not even tokens now
in my defence.

My light and fingers fisted tightly, white,
throwing fire at storms and raging tides,
for gaping holes
poking through a heaving ribcage.

A child who only ever wanting once
to be told,
that there was worth in his trying.

Here his roads end and nothing remains.
The striving and the loss,
All gone,
only black darkness.

Clearly I can see,
the end,
And pieces of me
buried in the sand

– Dave Kavanagh

3 thoughts on “Scattered pieces

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