Anatomy of Evolution

They cradle my decay,
From birth to breast-
Transcending canvas, each stroke in flesh.
Youth knows no world, knows no sin-
Still lambs grow lost in time’s wane,
Made sinners, with words that lie.

They collect my archive,
Not of fable, nor of myth.
Shattered glass, I catch the light-
Reflect in fragments, fractured lines.
If love is war, and war is love,
Let these gashes tell my tender tale.

They unveil my antiquity,
Every bated breath on sacred limb-
Where crimson walls pulse and ache,
No greater release than nectar’s spill,
A silver kiss that parts the skin,
Borders of blood shape broken land.

They speak of me-
Of all I left unsaid.
My story etched in skin to keep.
The scratch of steel on tender depths,
They laid me down-
raw and pale.

No scars of glory,
But wars of silence, wars unnamed.
They are my scars; they echo loud-
I made them-
they forged me.

No beast, no saint am I-
I am evolution, carved by hand.