Fabled Souls

The Fabled Souls

Under swollen trees -
ruined houses cleft by shadow -
the Fabled Souls,
arms of tattered opal silk,
carry shame like gifts.
Broken promises,
lies, betrayal, and hatred
pass from past
to now
to future.

Offering our sin on platters,
the Fabled Souls
beat their chests
with the hollow thrum thrum
of war drums.
A chorus of moth wings
wail, beating themselves against
incorporeal light stripped clean
of flesh and reality
and purpose.

Pale moonlight reflects
bruised violets and saffron
upon ivory faces.
The Fabled Souls'
carved, gargoyle tears drip
cries of silent pain,
whispers out of history.
We are they.
They are we,
am I.

Clinging to gossamer threads,
pulling with impotent
gales and screams,
we amount to little
more than an
utterance of fog
amongst the mist.
The Fabled Souls pass,
dirty feet scarce noticing
our fingers beneath them.


Dedicated to my dear friend, FabledSoul