Deep South
Ominous lamentations
Bones lie in old graves in
old tombs in old dirt where the
old trees grow
Their massive, gangly limbs form thousands
of great hands that form in an
eternal Atlas gesture
They hold the secrets of our world and the
knowledge of passed souls above our
fragile, finite bodies
Monsterous watchmen
looking over the graves of families
and generations of passed secrets, death,
torment, joy, gaiety, loss, heartbreak
war, and peace.
Stoic and patient masters
Great boughs of oak outstretch indiffernt
yet strangely they welcome me
among their titanic roots
What sort of semi-mortality is this?
what do you think these beasts say to
one another?
That which does not speak does yet live,
but yet I....
hear them
"Them"
The barriers of dimensions
the sentient, invisible,
weightless, immutable
"They"
The demigods of creation and the
architects of the narrow,
yet infinitely deep chasm
The space
between
Great oaks
and cemetaries
between
the
living
and
the
dead
I suck the last of my beer down.
it's warm and bitter.
my eyes water a bit.
Fuck Cemetaries.
The Night Watch 