Typo – Tilt – Tangent – Textured

Oh honoury deathmask,

All honour be, to our hollowed out souls,

Drained by living,

And the starkness of atmosphere.

Those of us,

Our two, body and soul

Subjects of the ongoing slaughter

Of the cosmic gale of whether,

Where or where?

The variable vortex of love is,

Acting like a lose handed, let go, bus parent,

Who so would be careless?

That when having fledged

Their young,

And requiring still all energy

For their own fight of life,

Are now floundering

As if hit with a catch pole.

And then as all light is gone

Are rested and as still born as coal.

Thereafter, only death was in assendence,

As we all of us, were burned to a chill.

C2019 z Christopher Thompson