A Rite of Perfect Oblivion
Incantation for the Unmaking
When the raven drops its midnight feather
When the hanged man's breath stills forever
Speak this once in dying light
Then speak it twice when stars take flight
By the hush of moth wing's fall
By the web where shadows crawl
I unravel thread by thread
Till the living name me dead
Let the ink of gallows spill
Let the glass forget my ill
Let the worm my name engrave
On the lips of men in graves
Wind now wear my voice to dust
Earth now crack my bones to rust
Fire burn the last witness
Water drink my vanished kiss
No hand shall clutch my ashen sleeve
No eye shall trace where I deceive
No dream shall keep what night reclaims
Gone as breath from silvered panes
Three strands from a burial shroud
Three nails pried from a church's pew
Three drops from eyes that never wept
Melt them slow as time unkept
Should the mirror show your face
Spit and curse this hollow place
The spell is cast The wick burns low
You are less than shadow now
(Recite facing north Let the candle drown in its own wax Do not breathe until the flame dies)
About the Creator
Tim Carmichael
Tim is an Appalachian poet and cookbook author. He writes about rural life, family, and the places he grew up around. His poetry and essays have appeared in Bloodroot and Coal Dust, his latest book.
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Standing While Falling
Quotation from Friedrich Nietzsche "He who wrestles long with monsters should beware lest he himself become a monster. And if you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you. Man is not destroyed by suffering, but by the meaning he makes of it."
By LUCCIAN LAYTH6 days ago in Critique
Comments (1)
This felt like breath on the back of my neck. Chills!