In nature’s cul-de-sac of secrets
a thousand sentinels of shadows hung
listening to the pulse on the bayou
with an opera of silence whispering
“Goodbye, Joe, me gotta go…”
with a lullaby that weeps
from the kitchen, something red
old spirits wetter in keg
my occult understanding of the witchy things in the swamp
it’s better not to speak of the dead
where the old ways meet new days
my voodoo is powerful
seeking the advice of a spiritualist
who talks with shadows
pepper on your tongue
a spicy bite to remind you
anointing the dead speaking in tongue
as the moonlights spills a ghostly
on remnants of a slumbering mime
the cypress knees wear patches
long worn from kneeling to the marsh
I like the way you two merged on this piece. flowed well
Thank you, Fia.
hello dearest Adagio I loved how this came out my apologies for not being here sooner 💕
Thank you, Brenda.