Dark Things

Their life story and the history of the world,
Dark things seem to stir feebly in there,
Each were written by the same hand,
In the awful green a bird hangs limp in a snare.

Paths follow along the water’s way,
A clump of trees makes a waiting spot
Danger catches the eye in a red altar,
And incense stands where they rested and fought.

It was something that could only happen to others,
Quietly to their own gods, they swear.
She is tired of the story of herself,
Words hang hotly in the air.

A line of sticks is split and drying,
Echoes of conversations walking by with beer,
The air is heavy and holds onto her,
There is so much unspoken that she must fear.

The air is heavy and moves with her,
Words hang hotly in the air,
A clump of trees makes a shady spot,
Dark things start to stir feebly somewhere.

September 21, 2007