Wednesday, August 21, 2013

Epilogue to the Battle

Moist grass underfoot in mourning dew,

fresh soil disguised on a streak,

a smile, sickly sweet,

she listens to the hall, heavy footsteps pitter-patter 

as the clouds pass over

just a wisp 

silver in the morning heat,

that sting, a sting on the flanks,

boiled like an old leather heart, rage fills the 

broken glass...

unable to empty the hole,

the dirt slinks back in,

like she used to on the evening sabbath ,

now the spell shatters,

on the daylight we slumber tense,

unable to forget the fateful hours hence,

remember it was only a dream - 

that's what the leech did say.

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