before the bronze of dawn
tread the path where the
flowers bloom
wet and glistening
with morning dew
before the rising tide
chase the silver maiden of the skies
does she remind you of fleeing
or running
does she remind you of the
time before men
when giants walked the earth
and gods plotted
the flower doesn't scream
as it is crushed
instead you smell her fragrance -
her dying breath
sweet and soothing
the hunter's soles show no mercy
as it tramples the stalks
bathing in the tears of dying petals
why does the forest go silent
just before the gun goes boom
does it weep for the pretty doe
who is now three legged
isn't a three legged doe still a doe
perhaps its something less
something panting and saturated
with fear
something bleeding and dead
something to end up on the
edge of a knife
this fortress will not hold
tell the archers to flee
tell the lions they are kings no more
tell the mountains the dynamites
are coming
they will kiss the clouds
no more
YOU ARE READING
rosewater and ichor
Poetry"the gods aren't gone. oh no, they are still here, among us."
