Poem-A-Day: Day 329

Scorned and the Damned

The scorned and the damned
have to be.
There’s no other choice,
no literal translation of the language
that has become accustomed.
Of the hundreds of things known,
little more than none have left marks,
they’ve made makers of them:
the scorned and the damned.
Have to be
somewhere, some final destination,
the layers, upon layers, adding up
but never coming to equation.
The hands, hot heat and burning oil;
scarring slaps familiar scented,
and the strange idea that they
have to be
the scorned and the damned.