The world is closing in
I cannot see the sky. Trapped
like the wings of a butterfly between
the fingers of little boys.
The Shadow lingers waiting for me to falter,
And like the panther in the wings,
dark and sullen, ready to pounce
and rip the bones from my flesh
I question the darkness,
but no counsel hear.
Voices sing up from the river
drawing me near like the siren’s song
I wander across the Plains of Moab.
I hear the trumpets sound.
The people kneel before the sullen
Priests and stare.
They cannot shout for me
my soul is to black, and the space
between the dark and the light
is too wide for me to cross.
I pray for the voices to wake me before
I drown, but in the darkness there is no
One to hear the sound that dribbles
from my parched lips in broken prayer.