Kylee

 Aloft a timeless sunrise

The mountain’s voice crackles and snaps

The morning’s fast endures

Cans and cups discarded


The fuel soaks the grass

Before the winking recklessness

Unbound, a vessel joins the fray

To feed its fleeing tenant


Canvas shelter whirls free

And voices short and frantic

Skip among the rocks and trees

Silent now before the horror


Ashen walls reveal the lie

The air of burning petrichor

Youthful foolish gallantry

A casket open to the sky.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Procura's Nightmare

On the eve of silver doubt, A bride stirs in her sleep. Restless visions bar the gate and so she weeps Solace stolen, for death’s last rout. Fortress walls though tall and stout, The winding smoke, they cannot keep Amythyst roiling, sweltering heat, Her nightmares drown her somber shout   Grinding wheels, a sea of sparks The watchmen do not blow their horns On lilac cumulus she embarks “Have nothing to do with him!” she forewarns. But like the cove with hidden shoal, The eve of silver doubt endures, the Savior's amaranthine veil is torn.  
Read more

Foundation

 From whence came grace but upon the toil of His majestic hand. The seat of power and sovereign clarity, salient rivers who brook no doubt. No faithless men to bear the standard, pray that we may do without,   The ravens feasting on those whose wages built houses on the sand
Read more

Psalm 22

  I trust you lord For your shadow girds the earth, gives measure to the deep. I cannot see, I cannot hear, the screaming bells cast searing heat, a corona hot and bittersweet carves temple grounds in my deceit. A viper does not know the sky, apart from soft-edged silhouettes that crawl along the ground, reflections of penumbral actors, changing without sound. So too are we confined to dust, our avarice a painting brush, and as we slither and mistrust, leaving naught but bones upon the ground. The teeth of hounds grapple with my spirit, rending silver-tinted melodies across the black expanse. Towers claw towards the heavens like fingers on the deserts hand, from windows high and balconies grand, the song of my tribulations echo in palaces of sand. “May God bless you. May he whisk you from this fate! Like a Zephyr blows a field of wheat, your God is like a quaff of wine that dries the tongue in desert heat” The lords of towers tall and white arrogantly mock the King of praise and pr...
Read more