Canto Eleven ~ The boy returns to the battlefield in search of the young mother’s corpse.
He seeks the scent of the rose that had permeated the place where she had died and comes aided by a magical spell the witch has shown him. It will warn of spirits that linger near. Specifically hers, but also the few others remaining that could possibly interfere. The prospect excites him, for the spell allows him to feel as well as see the souls of the recent dead. Long terrified of his own emotions, he revels in the bliss and agony of others.

Night staggers
the ruin of shells beneath her
steps

the blood of stars
from her goblet

a forest full of hunger
wet from a stream
drawn like a string

a bow of season
damp

Jagged blade
Smooth skin
A blank canvas
Pallet of pain

One cut
Makes her nauseas
But gives a little relief
Two cuts
The second larger than the first
Bares her empty soul

Third cut
In just the right spot
Lets the hurt pour out
Internal torment
Finally set free

The dizzyness is overwhelming
As numbness takes over
For the first time
She feels nothing
Transparent as a Ghost

For the first time
The heartache can't get in

Can you poets out there help punctuate this piece?

Brothers and sisters of this blood path
our similarities of bled roads and mountains
that serendipity might turn seriousness to a laugh
'cause we each the ebb and flow of one fountain;

Together our souls search out for the cave
where boisterous smiles can hermit and hibernate,
in dreams we'll hold hands again
rejoice the company, sleeping fervent.

Awake! We forget our platelets tie
blind to our shared donkey
that excites as a mountains steepness dies
then creep moaning when the road comes shonky;

Today I lost my friend, my husband
He went to sleep, and never returned

No time for goodbyes
Now only tears and sighs

Someone came and took him by the
hand, and carried him away before

the dawn of the day.Nothing left to say
except I will miss you my sweet love.

And hope to see you in my dreams.