FRAYED

Punctured, and weeping, along the rutted racecourse of time,

Phantoms murmur in the darkle and watch

As stretched shadows roll inward, tremble,

And stutter toward decay.

Crudely carved onto broken ground, whispered silence is cast in ghostly silhouette.

It bites with sharpened, wraith-like, teeth,

trails the savaged, green, soul of the earth, with suffering,

and claims a puckered forfeit in rusted blood.

The Fall

Bone-thin, molten-skinned, hackle-hunched and shackled

All gnawing after truth, and a place to rest,

They search the skies.

Eyes, cleft, yellow-red, and rolling inward

As white -wings descend from heaven and hide reality

in a snowstorm of purity and light against the dark.

Talons, marked by angel’s blood, scatter feathers

And eager tongues, split by lies, taste misted-memories

rising in forked wisps

from the ancient  quagmire of unborn hopes and dreams

spawned by daemons after the fall.