Ozymandian

Ozymandian

By Jax Soon-Legaspi

I travelled through ancestral lands

In morning smoke, laid burnt and blustered

Festering in lifelessness

Were flowers that disdained the rot

Bright and sinful, blooming there

Orchards that refused to die

Beneath the canopy and sky

Sleeping on the grass

The bones of our parents, wilted, withered

Epitaphs, on concrete, etched where they lay:

This corpse, refused burial by the ground 

Its ribs now kiss

Is everlasting penitence

To our god of synthesis