The Pyre of Our Dreams

On a silvery thread in a damp autumn morning
A spider wafts by the windowsill in the chill,
The sun burns a reverse cross on his thorax
And the sparks from his legs crack in the light

Spinning towards the third eye of the hunter
A mosquito caught in the silk cocoon of death
Venom courses through flooded veins of fear
And the proboscis sucks the lifeblood clear

Drained and empty here we lie on this cold floor
Or spun into woolen cloths covering our faces
Trapped and void we wait for the day to end
But the sun burns just a little longer tonight

Discarding the exoskeletons we turn inside out
The mosquito disappears before our eyes
Gather the wood and stoke the coals, girls
The pyre of our dreams burns a little longer tonight




Om joannavanschaik

Science communication graduate. Music, poetry, literature, travel, science and language collide in this blog.
Det här inlägget postades i English och har märkts med etiketterna , . Bokmärk permalänken.


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