Silent. Reverent. Dissonant.

Death cloud.

Still, perched
on thin black wire.




A thousand prayers
a million beads
one fated path.

Curse your
silent breath.

Our loathsome
reverent guest.

Deliver us
dissonant death.

And we'll be,
on our way.

by sandra geisell

Comments (1)

The words sing. (but I will have to return and think about it later. Off to work!)