Shining silver glimmer penetrates
the beating pulse of dust floor
A claw of forged and craven pale
impales a living scarlet core.
Cocooned now in weeds of woe,
Spring grey and emerald green,
decked out on a bed of embers red
on a quilt of vented spleen
Ire spent and canvas torn
regret now a wasted chore
To dream in time pale claw again
Impale soft that scarlet core.
Smoke blinds the binding sky
in clouds of rented scream
Behind high window death abides
in wood and shingle dreams.
© Dave Kavanagh @ daithiocaomanaigh.com