The Sentinel of the Dead

The Sentinel of the Dead

A Poem by VennelaMargame

Because it sees time going by when nothing
else does, it will grow old without witness.
Straight enough and strong, its timbers shall twist,
nevertheless, into knotty, pale scales.
Someone lives there, and her curtains curtsy 
sharply smart, smeared in rational light,
while she couches amidst the proper squeaks and slivers,
and the air tastes of wooden troughs and fires. 
Around the curve it squats, purpose-built,
muttering mythic oaths at passersby,
attic thoughts, memento mori at an ambush. 
Swooning branches, rational lights, while above
bides the crypt of a dim and splintery mind,
ineffable, dusty, dark and diagnostic. 

© 2022 VennelaMargame


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Added on October 30, 2022
Last Updated on October 30, 2022

Author

VennelaMargame
VennelaMargame

NY



About
I want to apologize to any friends on here for how long I've been delinquent. I need to get back on here, clear my backlog of read requests and get writing again. Best wishes all. more..

Writing