Long shadows
wear raincoats
march swiftly
no straw men
no hollow
no night birds
just long, silent steps.
Lingering
in the tree tops,
long branches
reach skyward
no one sees
no one hears
the smoke clears
and we see
the illusion.
White gloves
a light touch
careful as
a mortician’s hands.
The trumpet sounds
the battle cry
choked out.
Asphyxiation.
Blood red,
the purity
the eyes tell
the tale.
Forsaken lust,
so much to gain
from razed rock
foundations.
The apple tree
still bears fruit
while we pull legs
from spiders.
Whiling away
our afternoons
in graveyards.
So close
our native land
the daylight breaks
to joyless.
Smudged out eyes
contorted limbs
petechiae
and tear streaks.
A gasp for air,
a blackened lung
a window
to the soul.
The schoolhouse
never chalked a lesson
like this one.
The closest
that the teacher came
was to show us
how to play “Hangman”.
HG – 2018
‘so much to learn from raised rock foundations’ …so, so good. Your writing…very impressive!
Thank you. I am glad you enjoy it.
You’re welcome! Wonderful intense writing …