Another beautiful poem by poet Ellie Hastings, also known as “inspiration”
untitled by Ellie Hastings Beneath slick sheets his bones have begun to fray. Deep lies decay, thick as kudzu, the foreign seed that smothers. The tenebrous earth awaits the blood. To what end? The pain hums against his sleep. Do you hear it through the walls? Once you were small, and he was sturdy. Your softest whimpers could in a moment unbolt him from his bed. Now you keep his vigil in the lamplight and count the hours with half-smoked cigarettes. The right words and the regrets are tangled like briars on the banks of dark waters that seep past our end. Wine in your forgotten glass long since gone sour. © 2004 Ellie Hastings. All Rights Reserved. Reprinted by permission.