A rite of mind, a song of flesh,
a soulful chord in chthonic cold,
my plasmic dream crooned on sorrows blue
’til the dawning wet could scream in red.
The measured prowl of a smoking scowl
may string by root with howl or bite,
my hillside perch for hymn & crow
is stuck to the point of a pining craw.
Forest canopy a chorus in black,
a restive gust at glowering fall
from the Nameless Mist, a warbling wise
to the tune of the worm in hoary earth.
Beast nor wraith will sing me long
her soothing voice from a hole in stone…
a dark that flowers to the power of One
I release to the peace of my sharp stick home.
With the moon for eyes on dripping spikes
I drool & shroud ‘neath the emerald sky
o’er bygone trails through spidered hopes
on gossamer sighs where my tears run dry.
A bladed mind, a bark of flesh,
a lonesome light on the yowling night,
a dawning broods ’til the Sun turns blue
so a crimson wet can ring my death.
Powerfully penned, Benjamin. Excellent write my friend. Nicely done. Appreciate you.
Damian