The Musings on the Sainthood of Altruism

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The Musings on the Sainthood of Altruism

if you are dust
i will be ashes

in the field, a single crow
munching on an iris.
the flower.
the darkness of your eyes’s
sprouted outwards into outlands,
gushed into a clear, blue,
restless, cyan spiked sea
rubbed all over
by cinders.
to suck you down
is sin.
if you are ashes
well,
i am dust then

a glen in the east
foaming in the jaws
of yawning foxes

in some stranger’s dream.
forgetting.
forgiving because there was truly never
anything to forgive,
whispering a lullaby
gently; to the marigold,
windows shaded by curtains.
the full moon
emerging from the naval
goodnight to a goodmorning
signed in lips
and chaffing
and against the skyscrapers
and you are
that dust

i am ashes
I. am. ashes.

~ by Oloriel on September 23, 2021.