Obsidian

 

 

Here the dark hangs like ancient tapestries

The dank rot of old woven wishes

Fill nostrils with a stench of onyx air

 

Mortar seeps like tar from barren stone

Jagged black teeth to scar the granite

A throne room for the evil deeds

 

The boney and broken lay about

Muslin wrapped choices in wake

We celebrate the tragic sins in faith

 

Charred ghosts build a personal pyre

Ashen remnants of our unspoken truth

Yet the ringing cold is never beheaded

 

The silence shouts to the sticky floor

Where blood and soil feed twisted roots

Wrapped in beaded rosaries and lies

 

Curse the light with demonic hymn

Kiss the Stygian heat so well-earned

Suffer petulance more than prayer

 

Here the long years dance devilish

Soul crucified in exquisite ebony pain

And death is seen as caliginous freedom

 

 

 

Comments
7 Responses to “Obsidian”
  1. beth says:

    Filled with horror story and wonderfully written

  2. jonicaggiano says:

    This is a very sad piece but also brilliantly written Brad, I really enjoyed reading this. There’s a lot of dark days hidden in time, hidden in cloth, we don’t recognize or don’t want to. Really nicely done great writing. Big hugs, Jonikins ❤️

  3. I could almost understand “caliginous” by context but I had to look it. It seems like you have an unfair advantage over other writers and poets if you know more words than they do!

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