he’s the memory I see outside my window
where the wasps have all but gathered in his hair
and his eyes are dark as night yet deep and fearsome
drip like honey, does the blood on teeth he bares
old reflection, newest face I see before me
time belittled, weeping bones are scorching white
chariots drag scarab beetles wings and bodies
and to that sound, he danced with whimsy in delight
a godless realm worn as a token of his mischief
so he defies, with strings he’s broken, sealed their fates
a demons snare, a devils trap mean nothing to him
welcomed with open arms, my heart and wings he ate
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I like your invocations, the images, and what you’ve sketched in a trice, fascinated yet pulled up short in concluding as the devil has devoured the butterfly’s means of waltzing gaily through the buttercups. Thank you for sharing. I enjoyed it, befuddled.
I’m glad you enjoyed it! 🙂
i don’t know why i havent read your stuff before.. this is awesome.. you definitely know what to do with words.. well done 🙂
Thank you so much! 🙂
dark and deep…beautiful in its own way
Thank you! 🙂