O’ Gentle Creep~by Norman Wilson

 

 

O’ Gentle Creep

O’ what darkness seethes beneath
Beneath the wind that gently creeps
As maggots slither on crumbs of bread
Where no voice gives way to the dead

I see willow trees and grassy knolls
Scrolling to a forest infested in fleas
Where no men dare to walk about
For once entered in, there is no way out

In heap of flies that lie from fate of fall
In coming want to they who have it all
Grievous is thy way ye flock to mock
In thoughtless night where whispers talk

Within a grave of dead flies I do lie
Under fallen wood, amid boards of rot
Where ants crawl on bones where I lay
Beneath a black sun where I was caught

I bleed out from a wound of soft tissue
As I lie ever still but not quite dead
While I study fast upon my issue
For wounds of flesh glancing off my head

There is no sanctuary from where I lie
As I must assume that I will die
In the dreaded forest of no return
Where the jackals howl with eyes that burn

Leave me then among the fallen trees
Leave me then in a forest of infested fleas
Let the maggots feast upon my bones
For I shall never find my way back home

All rights reserved 05/13/16
Norman Francis