the dying game.

with summons,
I sit alone; I was tired of my penetralium
and id frozen in aureoled chokes,
harassing me to the shadows; 

each eye abstract, to the phantom 
of stone; I snipped my garden bones
of the rose-beds, felt the hidden 
moon into the thorns, a baby’s opus,
the dying game.

© 2021 All Rights Reserved.

Categories: Prose

Tags: , , , , , , ,

11 replies

  1. Not alone you shall walk nor die.

    Liked by 2 people

  2. “each eye abstract..” gorgeous.

    Liked by 3 people

  3. Your depiction of death and the atmosphere it triggers resonates metaphorically in the poem. So moving, creating a sense of anxiety. Great piece Lucy!

    Liked by 1 person


  1. the dying game. – Lily M Snow
  2. Lifestyle/ the dying game. – The Urban Fishing Pole: Cigar Blogger, Lifestyle

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