Melts the soiled soul onto
A dusty field of abandon
Fenced in by human limbed pickets
Yanked from the graves
Of broken hearts
Skeletal branched silhouettes
Clatter above the bloodless
Hole in the ground
The Ravens hide in the shadows
The shadows hide behind stone crops
The crops provide bountiful skulls
What is the illusion without a live audience?
Who, or what heard the solemn incantation of
Copyright © David Fisher | Year Posted 2014
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