Above it all I hear the quiet that is ever present now,
below the timbre of a sweetly singing choir…
vibration of wire and thought
to still my own in times of travesty.
I once belonged
to ones who might have turned
my cheek and not their own…love was
no phantom on the tail end of a song,
but something wrought with stoic tangibility.
You see, before the Nightmen rushed the bow I saw
them congregated, lowering me down to all these
worm-like things. And their faces…coal black
pencil lines wrought ripples, even sound!
And in my half-dead-full-corpse state, I saw them smile.
I saw them laugh, as things that live recovered from the dying.