The Lonely Army

When wind’s silence heralds boundless oblivion and the trembles of cracked earth raise the dust of tears dried by the boundless footfalls of sallow flesh When a thread of gold brings unearthly thought and the misconception of suns fallen drives foolish men to their knees in unending tremors An army of one frees the air from his fingertips and stays not his opal blade as it bites the rotted gray necks of kings released from their wrongful bliss by his trembling palms An army of one unconstrained by nature’s volume freed by the sin of his naivety yet, bound by earth’s oldest secret as the scarlet sun weeps its bloodied tears An army of one his cloak worn through by the acid blood of his deception and his bones stilled; the branches of a dying oak which no longer caress the wind