sound the horn ;
The dead are preparing for war, my
gut is a forge they cannot find
Who hides Hephaestus' phoenix inside
chinks of rattling 
chainmail ; 
feather-
beak-
claw(ing)
up gravestones, RIP(ping) breath from
Flesh

So when the skies tremble to hear the
wailing of a burning sun-set
,,,
they will ride in, a silent scream of glowing-iron-hell-fire-
Hail :::
Daughter of Echidna
will You 

lead us

to victory?

the rain is every fruit of heaven plucked at once to feed the fruit.

throwing myself
onto the wave of normalcy
being spit out
to ride the thunderstorm
of uniqueness...

If money grows on trees
The axe replaced by ladder

If you find people below small
Wear glasses of humility

Movie theatre earns my respect
The poor gets front seat

you cannot unwalk the bridge you have crossed
you cannot unknow the fresh taste of enlightenment
once you have breathed it in
there is no way back
to an illusory net of safety
take courage
spread your wings
and fly

©2016janetaylor