Salt of the Earth

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There is a place beneath the surface

where men carry oceans on their backs,

salt lining the curve of their spines

like a second skin.

They mine the marrow of the world,

trading daylight for dust,

their voices drowned in the hum

of machines carving veins through stone.

Above, the town swells in silence—

the houses hold their breath,

windows fogged with waiting.

Only the church bell remembers to speak,

its hollow voice a hymn to the absent.

When the men return,

their hands are ghosts,

fingers trembling with stories

they will never tell.

The earth forgets them as easily

as it swallowed their fathers.                        

 

 

 

The Alchemy of Drowning

 

I learned to swim by drowning,

lungs filling with the heavy gold of panic.

The river offered no apologies,

its currents unraveling the loose threads

of my breath.

They said there is a moment

where you make peace with the flood,

when the body becomes water

and your bones dissolve

into a softer kind of silence.

But I found no solace

in the alchemy of drowning—

only the quiet betrayal

of a heart beating against the tide,

a rhythm too stubborn

to let me go.

Now, I wake with the taste of river stones

behind my teeth,

each breath a lesson

in how to surface

without breaking.

​

 

​Joshua Walker is a poet whose work explores the intersections of vulnerability, resilience, and the human condition. His poems blend vivid imagery with emotional depth, drawing on themes of love, loss, and transformation. With a commitment to reviving timeless poetic traditions, he aspires to craft verses that resonate across generations.

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