Cáscara Vacía (Empty Shell)

Harsh or endearing reason
sidestep the seasonal gaiety
to hide within the poison oak
while wishing to journey home.
Much simpler and gentler times
covet those very sweet rhymes
whisper a lullaby to deaf ears
we take a crimson train there.
I know sometimes evil lurks
on the rim of a soft rose petal
and barbs impale the mind
leaving an icy hand to bleed.
A bleach blue sky, day by day
listing the ways of redemption
always the little things ripping,
squeezing, ceasing the hunger.
My skull is but an empty shell
cradle dreams in black and white
tomorrow’s nihilistic color fantasy
and the nightmares of yesterday.

Ken Allan Dronsfield is a Published Poet and Author originally from New Hampshire, now residing in Oklahoma. He enjoys thunderstorms, walking in the woods at night, playing guitar and time with his cats Merlin and Willa. Ken Allan can be reached at kadfield@gmail.com. Read other articles by Ken Allan.