A poem by Fisher kel Tath

"You see naught but flesh
in the wrought schemes
that stitch every dance
in patterns of rising —
the ritual of our days
our lives bedecked
with precious import
as if we stand unbolstered
before tables feast-heavy
and tapestries burdened
with simple deeds
are all that call us
and all that we call upon
as would flesh blood-swollen
by something other than need.
But my vision is not so
privileged and what I see
are the bones in ghostly motion,
the bones who are the
slaves and they weave
the solid world underfoot
with every stride you take.
―Slaves Beneath
Fisher kel Tath[src]

Notes and referencesEdit

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