When false pretenses fades,
and trickery has trickled as morphine in my drip.
diluted in my blood —
my veins subconsciously submissive;
Invading mud, a landslide shades my retina
my tongue’s gone numb — but still
I plead forgiveness fore I leave
For the pitted skin, the scars of strip-mines
and the tarmac band-aids that I left on Mother Earth.
I failed to heal myself and her.
My last poem in April, also making it a total of 30 poems. I started late but finally caught up at. This is done for Izy’s prompt on toads: “A few minutes from now, you will lose all means of communication with humanity. You will not die, but will no longer be able to interact with the world. Whats the last thing you say?”
Happy Spring to everyone.
April 30, 2015