Death Sheathed
That silent sheath of death descends,
deliberate darkness pawing at my back
Watching, and waiting to pounce on weakness
dry writhing, prying eyes pilfering every thought,
Pitiful black plume of caustic passions impale
a cinder-receptical of swollen wailing whispers
clutched in throat and hanging on hook,
still hopelessly blooming cavern cut ushering water
on barren rocks where red Ohia Lehua rests,
So draw, you brazen, bloody Feral-Mudsucker,
I will eat the cooling darkness coiled to spring
Your sheath of death will not descend on me.
Karen K.L. Espaniola
April 1, 2012
