It always seemed the lamb should die at night with dark like curtains, solemn, wrapped around, while pools of crimson gathered on the ground. Instead he died in milling crowds—and light. The priests were quick; their bloody hands a flight of flashing knives. The bleating sheep! The sound of death that pinched my beating heart […]
Read more "The Last Lamb"Bald the hill, and bare and raw the hearts and eyes that watched and wept. Empty now, and tramped and trod the dirt dishonored by our feet. A crying sky, and streams and screams and murmured thunder of remorse. Barren now, the wooden stakes crossed in sorrow, stained with loss. — But he was good, […]
Read more "Interrupted Elegy"Blood drips down and pools in little eddies— swirls of life. Warm. Metallic. Salty. Tarns of crimson cradled in stone. A cup to catch the ransom for our life. – – –
Read more "Crimson Reflection"
melenoria 