Scattered Souls



I am from the month of May against the cusp of Aries; 

a block no-one walks down in a town to small too hold me;

that gap in time over-shadowed by the oxen moon.


You are from the memories I have rendered mute too long;

from the sweet smell of the Mosquito Coaststuck to my skin;

the arcane allure of Egyptian architecture,


from the best of my life, moments I could never forget;

the things that linger heavy under these dark sleepless nights;

the words that no man made language dare encompass.



I walked the depleted rainforests of Madagascar,

canoed the bio-diverse waters of Botswana’s delta,

wearily wandered the vast mountains of Lesotho,


traveled all ofAfricajust to see a glimpse of God,

intoxicated with silly notions of ‘finding truth’;

lost my faith in the blood of Sierra Leone.


I came to this country as a writer without a voice

trying to speak for the tongues cut out by this genocide;

I have stayed here all these years a lover lost in love.



He was a vision of perfection, more than I could bear;

dirty blonde hair, deep hazel eyes, strong hands full of life,

a smile that made the sun appear to be dimly dying.


My sister told me once that sex was almost magical

but ‘magic’ was pathetic slight of hand; this was dying

without pain, it was blinking your way into heaven.


Anxiety ruled the morning like coffee stains on teeth,

I had half my clothing on when he first stirred back to life;

we stayed safe in the sanctuary of sheets all day.



He has held me through the frenzy of car bombs; the calm

paced market mornings; despite the echoes of civil war;

he has held me to the world like we will live forever.  


I’m set adrift in the sounds of his sighs when we make love;

the heat of his sculpted, sun kissed body in the shower;

the smell of his dusty skin; I have belonged with him.


When the sweet breeze seeps through the stagnant windows at dusk

I admire his leathered face; count the wrinkles on his brow;

one for every stress known to a soldier after war. 



A little blue plus-sign appears on the plastic stick in my hands

making me swoon; I consider bringing up my breakfast;

I am the SaharaDesertjust before monsoon.



He makes the kids soccer balls from duct tape and rice bags; loves

the warm ulcer-hugging burn of single malt whiskey; lives

to settle where the rivers of blood wash him ashore.


I call my mother on her birthday to tell her the news.

She responds as if this will fix all my problems; reacting 

like an alcoholic with the deed to the beer store.


She likely hung up and drove straight to the nearest big box

department chain to buy pacifiers, diapers, cribs;

grabbed every last velour sleeper they had in stock.



Spring brought floods of blood like rain; I saw my first glimpse of God

he was holding back tears; shaking fists at the land; screaming;

the engines drowned him out; I lost my faith years ago.


My soul scattered like ashes; no barrier to the storm.

Sasha; my beautiful, hazel eyed, gold skinned knight wielding

his sterilized scalpel against the darkness; Sasha 


Love faded into the background; a sunset in my dreams,

the whispers of war weeping half a world away echoed

Sasha’s name; reduced life to a half living heart beat.



The first time I saw you, you had his eyes, hands built for life, 

a tuft of sandy hair; memories rendered mute by loss.

The first time I saw you, was my second glimpse of God 


View running_with_rabbits's Full Portfolio
justanotherscreename's picture

So worth the read. The ending

So worth the read. The ending sent shivers down my spin.

running_with_rabbits's picture


thank you again for your kind words, everytime I read this pome now I just wnat to edit it. it was written in a time crunch for a poetry class I was taking, so it didn't get smoothed over :/

Much Love


KindredSpirit's picture

I don't know

But I appreciate this poem more

Then the first time around.

I love it.


running_with_rabbits's picture


thanks love, glad you enjoyed it. I kust want to edit it and chnage it more and more each time I come back to it! lol

Much Love


tallsquirrelgirl's picture

leaves me


*tallsquirrelgirl* she feels in italics and thinks in CAPITALS ~henry james

running_with_rabbits's picture


thank you

Much Love


life_used_to_be_lifelike's picture

I... am not even quite sure

I... am not even quite sure what to say. Wow. Wow. Wow. i can't even. Holy crap. Im stammering. 

"It is a terrible thing to be so open. It is as if my heart put on a face and walked into the world" -- Sylvia Plath.

running_with_rabbits's picture


thanks love

Much Love


allets's picture


What made you think you needed a poetry class. You rock! Hugz and more Hugz! ~slc~



running_with_rabbits's picture


this is a pome because of the poetry class...

Much Love