Creeping Poem by L.B. Temuco

Below the dull slate sky
in deep trenches
are the rotting graves
of lost blood
of young virgin bones
filled into emptiness
a drain in the dark
gangrenous earth
into which the pus
of fallen
broken, scratched
uncovered, exposed
bodies pour, endlessly
unrealised dreams
dry now like
implacable ash
once the bones
of purpose, of reason
of birth, of hope
of men gone now
peace finds hate creeping
like a poison creeping flower
creeping towards the lips
of lovers creeping
into the speechless
mouths of strangers
who have never walked
who have never talked
who have never
looked up together
at a sky less dulled by hate