Blood-Red Skies

cb717ddc8fdd1de9335499663e2b40b6

 

Blue are the eyes staring through the darkness

of deep isolation circling a leafless tree of wisdom.

Dry are the grey bones of lovers lost on this barren

Earth scorched by a burning sun with naked heat but

tepid is the water I find surrounding my troubled skin.

Cold is the welcome by the hearth of your hoar house,

your stone walls dripping red with the sweat of my disdain,

the disdain you pile upon me like the fetid remains of

respect under a tonne of faeces poured liberally over life.

Fertile green is the meadow I wander, far away from here,

towards the high mountains and deep rifts of longing.

Empty is the luggage I haul through this land of skulls,

of yellow bones, of black socket-less eyes, of lipless lies

of grey flies crying crocodile tears of shining quick silver.

Clear is the end I near, but never reach, under blood-red skies.

 

 

Rochester, 2016

 

Follow me on Twitter @Malek_Montag15 or

at https://www.facebook.com/Malek-Montag-Author;

 

Image from: https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/cb/71/7d/cb717ddc8fdd1de9335499663e2b40b6.jpg

 

About malekmontag

I am a writer and a wage-slave, and proud father of George Giraffe. I live in the UK, but I exist everywhere. My first stories were published this year (2016) in Short Stories and Tall Tales (Atla Publishing). Follow me on Twitter @Malek_Montag15. My Work is also available on Niume.com.
This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s