1 min readJun 30, 2020
Photo by GRAS GRÜN on Unsplash

My words have left for the hills

They’ve been slaughtered

Like the fattest calf

And sent to the heavens

In billows of smoke

I hope god accepts them

I hope he let’s me come in

As spirit

After the slaughtering

I hope the priests eat well

Their bellies full enough to teach

And lead

And fight off wolves

I hope I was finally good enough

For something





A writer and sensitive realist who takes risks with the intention of progress