prose

The Last Breaths

It is a forest, ageless and eternal
this perceived afterlife
within the living day
breathing in amid the cold pines
slower and colder
harsh inside my lungs
as I imagine the taste
of my final breath.

We were arboreal
children of this verdant womb
within its living green
birthed amid the rain painted leaves
but slower and older
we have forgotten our mothers
and our last breaths
will taste of stone.

Bear No Silence

sing the songs in silence
ayrs to slay the noise
that which sears the clear thoughts

pray on a single breath
appealing to the heavens
to drown the gasping, misted days

wake to discordant choruses
of the darkest feathered angels
winging dread cares to hell

face the end with open jaws
a cry to deny perdition’s bid
to own all who have a heart

scream that you would stay
inside the noise, within the havoc
to curse the need for silent song