No ratings.
"We each owe a death, there are no exceptions. But sometimes the Green Mile seems so long" |
Night Watch [Closure, Part I] All along the night watch, the fallen take their place They line a wall, bleached, whitewashed, vacating mortal space With faces pale, ashen at the things that they've become Phantoms... of a fashion … wraiths who've had their run Regret, it weighs in heavy, despite the lack of paths Guilt is slowly levied as the sorrow turns to wrath Anger at the choices, or lack thereof it seems Regardless of the voices, that sound our darkest dreams Narrating bleakest hours, the blackened sand, it slips Trembling 'neath bowers, cowering and clipped Wings viewed through glass darkly, grounded where the narrows grip The hours wind down starkly, so granular the drip Mortality made substance, in the absence of the light So mordant with reluctance, leaving little to the night But the sound of shallow breathing, as the poppy's do their work Through life blood, slowly streaming, sheathed a slow stiletto, dirk A blade forged dull to hide in day, to do it's job at night Cold steel keen, beneath the grey, so stealthful, out of sight Waiting for the night to drop, horizons, take their fall Waiting for the sand to stop, … the Night Watch takes it all |