No Longer Standing

 

Who am I that the world

chooses to rest on

my shoulders?

That sadness floods

my veins –

each step a concrete block?

That my bones

splinter

piercing, piecing the distance –

a bridge of pain?

Each breath

a glass bubble

shattering with every

inhale.

Where is peace? Trapped

in the pages

of a book?

Bound and

covered in dust.

The trees

hold my thoughts

in their

thin skins.

Perhaps the oak

will accept these

words – another story

absorbed by those

no longer standing.