On the night shift
there's no one to
talk to.
You learn that the
sounds of your own
voice is all you have.
The shadows on the
walls are shaped and
like your disparity-
they morph into the
demons hidden upon
the innate tapestry of
your soul.
The minutes tick by so
slowly, two icy hands
screeching methodical
etching the sad history
upon your gravelly heart
and you just know that
the real world will surely
continue tomorrow, in
the bloodletting sunrise
of a new day.
The Crossing
When the rain plummets down
upon flesh, soaking through to
bones that are weary-
when nightingales’ song, interwoven,
with the mourning of a starling’s weep,
dead unto the earth and slate grey
of tomb. Rise from this terminus
point, ride the waves and cast off
this salty hue-
and the flowers bloom in spring, no
mammoth flowing hillside palace can
encapsulate soaring red tail hawk-
a feather's soft touch, a rebuke of
death in the soft ebbs of twilight,
and those that are the galloping
hooves of the dark reaper's horse,
a mockery of life crossing over the
bridge into immortality.
Wayne Russell is a creative jack of all trades, master of none. Poet, rhythm guitar player, singer, artist, photographer, and author of the poetry books “Where Angels Fear” via Guerilla Genius Press, and the newly released “Splinter of the Moon” via Silver Bow Publishing, they are both available for purchase on Amazon.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.