My skeleton dances to jingles and dirges
Other rhymes get lost in my frayed flesh.
And the mechanical raptors circle on,
Eager to strip me of the meager that still
My shadow adores your mottled reflection,
Hoarding the sun in your pockets might be
The reason your soul has gone blind.
Fractured, faulty and futile your facade.
Your loneliness has windows but no doors.
I Bemoan not your falling stars
I worship not your withering pride
I feed not your starving demons.
Like fall, you should fall with grace and gratitude
With your foliage and plumage in full bloom
With the winters of your past withheld.
From this sinkhole, a moon will arise
And quench your darkness as I tan my
Pride In your afterglow.
Godfrey Holy is a published author of several anthologies (In the Crosshairs, A promise of Doves among others). He has been a guest author in several other books. He resides close to Boston with his wife and three kids.