Eyes bleed out, and stare off into space.
With the flying crimson shards scattered thrice in the rain.
The light stabs like a knife, and swing across the sky.
Come to tear a shining hole down onto the broken ground.
For the hour of the mind crumbles, like the decaying hands of time.
Where the soul is like putty, molded by alien hands.
A government body, folding in the sands.
And warriors decaying aloft, disrupting their own ways, at the fading of man.
The dark hour calls for harpies, sent from nowhere’s ville.
Taking up the minds of those led astray. Snatching up alms of the many ones fading away…
==
The mind separates from the body; the soldier separates from the scholar.
The face rips from the skull, and skull separates from the face.
Meaning death is on a man.
And is shown clearly in his wake.
The arms are molded by cowards, telling muscles where to swing.
And straddled onto ankles; the crying child.
Lifting cowardice with each limb on a whim.
Castles built buy fools, are castles built by stooges.
Shot down by barbarians at the hour, and pillaged by the avengeance of the ruthless.
Cascadia Legends and Poetry 