Silent

Still chilling are
Frozen blades

A silent battlefield-

The mysteries lie
Cold in the waters

Stories told remain
Woven in the pines

The morning dew remembers
Last bullets shot

In fight

You are rotting from the core
The sphere of your home
Is rotting your flesh body
All that is left is a fragile shell
Of ruptured bleeding porcelain skin
It is the sin, it is the sin

The demons came
Through pavement cracks
Unfinished doors
Faulty locks galore
As they crept
Boldly through the halls
They were felt unheard
Yet their singing mauls

The sleeping people
Lit a candle
To see whom it was
They saw their comfort
And danced with it
Tremendously

They are here
It is time for
Some great repentance
For our families have
Grown weak as the night
Grows cold

Surrender completely
And solely
To God
Before this outrage
Is set in stone

Gurgles and steam; coffee brewing
In an unkept home

Meatless young elbows jarring from
Open, wind capturing clothes

Dirt stained into soft kneecaps
Where the light wrinkles arise

The unseen preying of grays
Onto the young bright mother of May

The photographs freeze her
Before her gentle demise

Spritzing water spews softly sizzling
Few nozzles survived garage winter

The dampening sun-
Mosquitos ate at all, leaving none

Sweet tangerine smells
Swatting of fruit flies from the treasure
Once was held

The moon illuminates
Peaceful strides-

Soft cats' gentle rides

The wind whistles to me
As how sunlight once called me "free"

Calm creaking pines
Remnants of sensibility in my kind

A meadow
A brook

I keep my pen and my fishing hook

If freedom was a part of us
Rooted deep within our souls
Why don't we scream loudly like thunder
To vanquish these ignorant foes
But these chains abide around us
We see but do not speak
These walls between our neighbors
Serve as political referees

Celebrate your celebratory crazes
As you break free of the reins
Of sensible ideation
May I control not what you do
Nor what you say to your unlike kind

I only regard from my peaceful hill
The burning flames grace below me in thrill
Bow I may do, surrendering myself, but not unto you
I will only smell the grayish smoke blues