Most poems tell of ideals
Of hopes, of dreams, of love
This poem will stray
Just a bit

Blood dripping
Onto the congealing ooze
Left behind
By seven scores
Of maggots

An infant wallows
In the morass
That is her legacy
Life in her mother’s chains

The heat blows too hot
Then it doesn’t blow at all
Living in extremes
The heights of loss

Life is unrecognizable
Eons and light years
From the hope of poems
From the glory of life

Free Write – Rehoboth Library
Rehoboth Beach Writers’ Guild