My Two Hands


The air hangs like a traitor

Motionless and well dead

A raucous silence

Stagnating the ear

Un-whispered in the dark

It smells like a thousand years

Light ever the prodigal

And night is e’er king

Sighted by the blindness

I grope the remains

The bones of my feast

Held in the muck and the mire

The pitch-black tar

Of the lesser soul

The wished away

Unregurgitated evils

Bound in the gut of hatred

Rotting rose blood red

Bear not false dream

For what I find, I earned

I put it there

With my own two hands

I have filled this sacred ground

With every thought

With every act

I have built their hell

And placed their bodies within


12 Responses to “My Two Hands”
  1. kristianw84 says:

    Woah! This is darker than what you usually write, but it’s very raw and just as beautiful. ❤ I am so in love with your poetry.

  2. Francisco Bravo Cabrera says:

    I like this dark side, very interesting and powerful. So well done my friend,
    All the best,

  3. Jim Borden says:

    a dark poem for sure; powerful imagery…

  4. petespringerauthor says:

    Powerful writing, Brad. So much to like about your strong word choices with this one.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

%d bloggers like this: