A Thought for Every Word

Syringe

Captured sleeping beast
waits upon deprived dead scabs
crying saltless tears
 
Heard by no one now
with hollow sounds that fall still
and portend the dirge
 
Death knell soaring high
on wings of black taloned wrens
warbling a shrill note
 
Dry scabs crust and flake
falling off wasted wraith arms
to be pricked again

 

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