Falling Down
Eclectic dream catcher, devoid fibers...
What shall we grope blindly at today my friends?
Homeless, helpless, missionless...
Molten cheese soup of days and nights...
Out the rearview they sail past giggling hysterically.
The Void claims its prize of noisy pleas.
Reflection in the ripples...
Broken and confused...tatters of ideologies.
Reader, flail not upon the barb wire...
Sinews as coiled cold steel flex.
Nay, the herald brings news...
The Mighty King yet stands...
By his own hand the thousands of assailants bleed.
Cries of defiance, rage, patience flee for their lives...
I will rest...
When the Black Herald comes calling...
We have met...and we do not fear one another.
Bloodied, the King awaits the next assault...
Come to me...
Dance...
Published by Scott A.Haynes
Aspiring writer and musician living in the beautiful Bluegrass region of Kentucky. Welcome to the nether regions of my psyche! View profile
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