Ardent wings undulate at length,
Reverberating echoes through
Tomorrow. Beware the sound of
Halted silence. Beats build up strength,
Reading constellations until
Infrared lights fret for sorrow.
Through the rotten wood you abound,
Increasing stillness you borrow.
“Cricket! Cricket! Don’t stand so sly.
Chirp,” they said, “‘til the day you die.
Right through the wood, you hear us cry.”
“Irate they were, oh me oh my.
Could I not chirp? Are all men not
Kings? The Valley of Death consumes
Earth. Angels in silk-woven wings
Taunt me in siren songs they sing.”