thewayoftheworld

The butcher

My father’s tears ran

for his mother’s life

down the back alley

to the butcher shop

to beg a block of ice

which had melted

from his face

uneeded

she was already cold

a grievous insult to beauty

at the unskilled hands

of another sort of butcher

wielding instruments

jagged and imprecise

destroyers of little boys lives

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3. darknessthereandnothingmore reblogged this from francine and added:

   I wish I had read this on a page held between my bare hands…stunning

4. francine reblogged this from thewayoftheworld
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