Black Crescents, White Crescents

The grinding of finite particles
From a pile of soft ashes, old, cold,
Blacker than when they sheltered
Embers that glowed a mesmerizing
Red, pressing them between fingers,
Soot crammed under nails, waning
Black crescents. Prints smearing
A face to wipe tired eyes – witnesses
To conscious dreams that rode
The porous waves of promises made
To lighten darker days. Truth bespoke,
Tears would drown oaths, tripping
On weighty words of honor, poisoned
By the bitterness of spoiled speech
Passed the sell-by date, threatening
An end to progress. In vulnerability,
A safe drop is to crawl upon the earth,
Welcomed like a spit in the face. Twice
The bell rang, unanswered, drowned out
To the sound of laugh tracks, kept away
From far greater circuits. Innate climb
In a weary aftermath, learning to keep
Truths patiently protected in the folds
Of the future, conceiving plans to take life
Between two hands like a mother holding
A baby to her breast, recognizing the gift,
Needing the night to behold the nuances
Of the dawn, knowing hope waxes
Underneath each nail like the little,
White specks, thought to be deficiency.

Copyright © 2013 Shainbird. All rights reserved.

Note: This was an entry for Championship for the Ages where you can go and read some amazing poems by some amazing poets!