The thunder screamed
cleaved souls
from the safety of their skins,
A shiver shuddered
through all who huddled
and those who hunched
in ever-smaller corners
eyeing the quickening squall.
“I am not tired though”,
said just one
but I do feel worn by friction,
A moon rose mute
a bad taste in the mouth
of having fed on carrion
dead stiffened veins
giving little sustenance,
A moon feigned night
in a flight of fancy
it stayed behind the clouds
and didn’t make sound
as though disavowed.
© Emma Calder
(finally got around to posting a new poem, thanks for reading xx)
Deathless Shadows 