The Carving

Branches of the trees don a rusted palette,

The sharp air prickles throats,

River water glimmers as it reflects the sky, turning to steel,

It is time.

 

For too long I have slept in my bed of warm earth,

Nature’s course has completed and in a swift slice

I am cut away, singular and alone,

Teetering on the bridge between growth and decay.

 

Thrust into uncertainty and left in the dark,

I wonder where life will take me,

Then I hear a tap, tap, tapping at the edge of my mind,

Like a visitor requesting entry.

 

In a flash of searing agony a blade digs into my skull,

The tapping becomes sawing, back and forth, methodically cutting,

My skin falls in serrated shreds,

My guts are removed in a seed-splattering swiftness.

 

My hollow body is inspected and turned in unknown hands,

A steady knife mutilates my soul,

Carving deep lines into my orange pulp,

To sculpt an unfamiliar face.

 

As I gaze out from triangular eyes,

I feel a light within flicker and twirl,

And letting out a smiling sigh,

I reveal my wicked face to the world.

Lead image: Pixabay

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