The Rusty Gate
Enshrouding blackness leaves me breathless
Crippled crows caw for rest upon the iron opening
Darkness and greed is their abode
The rest are ridden on fire into the starless night
Where and when will the dawn lift its head?
Crisp and cool is the lifeless ground I tread
Until all trails of energy are left for dead
Wandering blindly into sheets of hot, sweltering rain
Whistling winds leading me to the teeth of the rusty gate
As the crows caw their unrest
And souls of endless fog cry beneath
It is sad and frightening to know
That the slightest creak of the opening gate
Will bring the wailing souls a beautiful, false
Hope. . .