The Serpent Is Dead
Twilight fell onto my
windowsill
Demon fire in full
retreat
The stars above
glowing pulls on a rug
Woven deep into the blackness
I sleep
Days grip is unchained
the cantor sings as he prays
As St. Michael cries
THE SERPENT UNDONE
The sun has now left
though your dreams not bereft
Only the night
—points to heaven above
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)
Copyright © Kurt Philip Behm | Year Posted 2018
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