Death with Black Wings

November 3, 2009
Bring down the snow,
the pelts of white as deep as death.

Smother your lonesome soul within the grasp of winter's tithe

And hang your vows from a dead sycamore's limbs
For words without reason will conjure death with black wings

Whisper the message that will save the voices:

Terror is only a sonnet sung from the pages of faces of unknown spirits.





Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback