Before the Bridges Fell #9 by David L O’Nan : Living in This Toxic Coalmine – poetry first on Icefloe Press

Photo filtered by David L O’Nan of a coalmine.

Living in This Toxic Coalmine
first published in Icefloe Press  
There are fields that no one wants to breathe
There is a reality in which we cannot be

I wait for you to heal, as you wither like the sand
I wait for your angels to come by and build a temple with your hands

You’ve breathed in the blackest of beasts
That smother the air within the flow of these demons

Within our heart is little shards of twisted quartz
The crystals that cut through like minuscule crowns

The devil’s wind rips at the brim of my hat
I’ve got old souls dancing and trying to read the word to me

They know I’m no longer feeling human, I’m becoming a wooden boy
Talking like a stranger, fumbling sickly with his oil can toy.

Diseases like loves are just the flesh of charred whispers
Both feel the burns to the pores.
Sunlight can only wave in the hope to our deepest core

We’re tired of this burning, these shovels
The mouthing rambles of some fake heroes

Broken nose old men become experts at living
As they work on that same carburetor in that ‘95 Ford Taurus every day.

The sunshine has browned the roots of the grasses.
The heat has freckled me to the bones.

Through a life worth living we’ve all felt the worst grief
Some predators and sinners drink in to become their personalities
They’ve watched as the women weathered all the pedals
Under the icy stares from the devil in their men.

The minds that we all see as windows
Always think that they are invisible

The blackest of beasts may not be a pandemic
But the beasts that walk within one’s nerves, flesh & mind.
The darkness of the coal-seam fires
Leave the purity of what is underground to rise up to murder our hope

The mines are vibrating to combustion
The little stones quiver around my pulse
The pulsating veins quake like that bituminous coal
The canary flew in to sit on the wall just to become a wooden body.

The self-igniting madness of families severed by the greed
A pandemic could have been tamed
The spreading of ashes just splintered our breathing, and left us leathering.

Before the Bridges Fell Poem #8 by David L O’Nan   “Those Hazels, They Slice” – poetry first published on IceFloe Press. 

Before the Bridges Fell: English to French and Italian Translation of Clearly! by David L O’Nan  CLAIREMENT! and CHIARAMENTE!

Poem #3 from Before the Bridges Fell by David L O’Nan : “They Had Sadness in Their Eyes (like in Littleton)” – poetry

Interview with EIC David L O’Nan with Anastasia Abboud on Grains of Sand : About how I write, my weird thoughts and a few of my revised Cohen Avalanches in Poetry Poems.

By davidlonan1

David writes poetry, short stories, and writings that'll make you think or laugh, provoking you to examine images in your mind. To submit poetry, photography, art, please send to feversofthemind@gmail.com. Twitter: @davidLOnan1 + @feversof Facebook: DavidLONan1

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