This Existence of Ours

Our world is a first draft,

A rough sketch etched upon stone, to be

tossed across the galaxy's pond, skimmed

far across years         It skips us into darkness,

Through the gristle and dirt of the universe,

ripples roll through worlds, cupped softly

in warm palms, towards warmer suns,

We are ripening fruit, nearly ready to sink

the teeth, pierce baby flesh, peached skin,

Our pip falls on new grass        The ants will feed

On what we have left behind, upon the dying

buds of our Earth, wilting blossoms, picking

apart the remains with mandibular teeth,

Beneath the soil           Death sprouts,

A snake worming through the dust, trailing

riverbeds, as the ones we've left behind,

Empty and dry, ribbon coils, veins rupture through

spoiled dirt             But we will forget ourselves,

Forget about the rotting past, sprout our life in

fresh mud        Faces wide like open palms

in the sun, we are tender things, throwing our

pollen into the wind       In this, our new

world, we will let go        In this, we will learn

how to be again

 I am a 26 year old writer from West Yorkshire, with a strong love for writing poetry, short stories and novels. Whilst my poetry is often metaphorical, introspective and environmental, my stories are a lot darker and take on a gothic tone. I've had a range of stories and poetry published in Greenteeth Press 'Over Yonder,' York Literary Review and Ergi Press, amongst others.