Ten thousand years
Crumble in one night
Rotation of power
Ten thousand
Sparked to fire
Far traveled hunter
Search for food
Church of bones
Oftentimes alone
Temple is wild
God is moon
Nomad feeds
Ground fires
Summit in the east
Filled with smoke
No man go
east
The waterline that is cremated
Pushes forward white ash
Brutal movements made in wash
Dead fog at dawn
Slight of rain
sound of light
Masts of wood
Crash to white
Nights that are armed and long
Having no memory to compare
Swing to lunar tune
Claim day as own
God is moon
Bury them in masses
Sow them over
Siege no woman
Isle of men descending to rank
Brimming over reach
Ten thousand
Buried in masses
About the Creator
Nosferatu
I am a 19 year old aspiring poet.
The Light Turns
It's Tuesday 7:13 a.m. A cold and clear November morning awaits Ray on his morning commute. Ray rubs his hands together in the front seat of his Subaru. He turns the air temperature up, but keeps the air on low until the air warms up. He looks at the backup camera screen and reverses the Subaru out of his driveway onto Trimble Road.
By John R. Godwin3 days ago in Fiction
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