The pen to the knife and all in-between,
The soul mothers caged the aging of dreams,
Wondrous colours of a time lost long ago,
In a drifting silence least forgotten buried in the withered snow,
Caged gasping animals rage,
Of days before the mirth forgot the sage,
Before the cold moon blew past the winters rage,
Or forgotten time, forgotten rhymes, forgotten melodies of bell chimes,
The pen to the knife and all in-between,
Mans cover the knowledge understanding left to bleed,
And here we sit on either side,
Left to wade within the black blue carton,
Left to dream the aging dreams all but misbegotten,
And there we sleep,
Upon the window seal,
The open drifts of cages released the quill,
And there she wanders wonders blissfully aware,
Unaware, blissfully aware,
Awaken to the smog flames,
The bleeding,
The fair trades,
Awaken to the nightmares, the same shares,
The God’s wares.
There we sit,
And there we stand,
There the pen meets knife,
There the rivers burning fight,
There the dreams age cold and the morrow’s bleeding old,
There we left forgotten the tragedy lay within, without, the holy snow |
Submission Name: The Pen.
