Eyes

Eyes

A cave, dry and empty.
Dark, cold, but not entirely still.
Dying breath stirs tapestries.
Decorations of ravenous purpose.
Hollow shells of silk imprinted.
Screaming masks of the consumed.
Echoes, cast in fibrous pain.
Bound in waiting, and doomed.
Savored, tasted, and silenced by
glistening fang and eight-fold eyes.

10 lines
free verse

To the one who gave me back poetry after almost twenty years. I am ever-grateful.