etchings (to be edited)

today, my wooden door scarred with pollen
a seething sickness poison brewing
draining all the fluid dripping through my veins
I felt a heart stop functioning, cease its beating
turning purple, drawn wickedness making all
the people solemn
\
today in Shakespeare's time a sword was drawn
and a line recast, to escape the plague-retreat
into the country walk humanity's withered path
trodden dark does keep some hidden light
amongst the cold rocky stream to glimpse
into a solemn person's dreams



a sudden movement
shifts the iceberg
and keeps the blood
uncut and men do
flee from their own shaft

a morbid light
a deathly child
a sudden sight
a deadly fright
the door the pollen claimed
embraces its own wrath
as stars do shine like happiness there
but out of sight to man