Sparrow's Sunset

A striding hunger to bond disease

Falls short to this pale, gaunt marrow,

An indent of the bone and back bowed knees

Presents a spawned and black horned sparrow.

The start of this flight to a perfection flail

Calls for the frank, flesh fitted pastor,

To rip a wing from this shadowed entrail

And feed it to their flickering master.

But my master is that worm from mother to mouth,

Was strong when the chill came flocking,

Though couldn’t fight morning’s music south,

Taken by the sharp gate’s knocking.

I come to your gold resting set

And lay my black horned sparrow’s fret.