Lives like raindrops falling into mud,
making rivulets of blood.
Unwasted, yet ungently blown; dashed and mixed and tossed and dropped,
then burned and baked to clay;
stretched tight in frozen screams.
Time, as in a century, will pass
and stir the mud; raise ears of corn
unnumbered like the raindrop lives
that cannot be remade.
About the Poet
Submitted by Matthew Rhodes
For the first time in nearly five years, Vita Brevis is closed for submission. Read the full story here.