Perhaps I’ve told my life dreams for the zillionth time.
Sinking further into something I know nothing about.
The sulfur in my mouth,
The stillness thumping in third shift
The metal particles, I find glimmering,
I scratch deeper in sleep, and it feels like
They have brought the rapture to my bed.
And I do not know who they are

What is left, how tired the train squeals over the tracks
The smell darkness for the first time and it is holy
Yes the elders have come to walk their planks
The dead will minister to us, and we will still fall into hands
Of shepherds in wolves clothing.
Know it not that I am something rare and wonderful.

Poetry Krissy Mosley


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