of fields

I shall be of slavery
sobbing in the night
when the moon is hidden
behind a fantastic mountain

I shall be of anger
heat upon heat
glowing insanely white
alone in the dawning desert

I shall be of lies
blood gurgling above
as the stars drown
in its sea of disease

I shall be of number
when the bronze prophecy
casts the skeleton of the fields
where children remember nothing

I shall be of incense
a sound perfuming clouds
or a string wringing time
leaving the last drop to dry

 

 

 

Nihilistic Poetry

One thought on “of fields

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