Silhouettes
Come; cried the woods
Come; cried the wind
Into the dark night.
The dark silent statues
with fingers grasped tightly
squeezing out the evil air, out
of it’s roof like mouth
Words frozen as they emerge
drifting silently amongst
those who listen. The chosen few
screeching from blood
Red throats. Baying for more
Winters grasp is closing down
Life and leaves are stripped bare
the summer that once was ours
is held in a sealed envelope
and fruitless amongst the unkissed bark
to settle among the Blue and Black.