Once there were eight deadly sins.
From the trail the old tree looks lopsided. A solitary branch separated from the green leafy mass to the right. String of biege hangs still upon it.
The afternoon Sun puts a premium on shade. The old tree makes for a good stop between isles of scrub bush. The winds that were so free in morning have retreated. Sound is hiding along with it too.
Under the tree, footprints paint a picture of a tussle. It appears two or three on one. They circle under a rope tied into circle. No signs of anyone left here. The cool respite may feel strange but it breaks the heat. My eyes grew a bit heavy from the ride. As I’m alone, rest should be about quickly.
Slumber slips away from me. Dreams stir of people. Strange dark men hunting and calling out. Its a struggle oddly muffled. My eyes open to darkness.
Arms have me and I lunge forward. They aren’t speaking my language. It feels they are questioning me. My throat grows tight. My mouth opens but i have no breath to yell.
“Boys, you got the wrong one!” A voice distant rings.
My mind grows dark.
“Does he look like Gus?” the voice continues.
I fade to black
That’s your love
Handling with care
Useless as words
Feeling should be glue
Not shrapnel or fodder
There are no openings
Just hardened glass inside
Someday never comes to you
Not as fast as you turn on others
You can’t take the warmth
You only chill the world to you.
Your last moment will pass alone
Far away from those like me
After the fire only ash remains
Curled grey fingerprints that hint
Solid things of matter gone
Fragile soul made of burnt dust
Dissolving by touch or breeze
Heat long escaped beyond
Embers that glowed red lond dead
Shatter debris in blacks and browns
Long past reach of the inferno
In the cool air smoke scents lightly
Smell alone gives afterlife
The fuel spent
The glory snuffed out
Worth a few minutes to read through
Spoken in quill
Spliting from purity
Then picked clean