#songless

Cling

A dark silhouette, Silent at sundown, upon the tallest barren Branch, closest to heaven. Caws, The lone rook. My memory of song. I no longer have any wistful reveries, Only perversions of the dove-sweet Dreams, I held so dear I could not abandon them, despite their years Of hapless corrosion. I feel The effigies malform; crack, and crumble In my anxious grip of bright boned fingers, And, still, I cling on, bloodless. I let the rust flakes stain me crimson; They slip like sand, And remind me my hands Were softer, once. Smaller, And warmer.