Words

Just something.

Icy shores caked in rasping blood
Stain the crisp crust crimson
As the traitors tiptoe to the mast
Commanding the dusty, summer flood

The traitors bite polished fingertips
Painted pink by playful prose
That command the wind of swollen words
Which raises their pointed nose

The words do bark a mournful cry
That beckons a sweet, silver knife
To cut the bonds of life and death
And watch the rainbows die

The onyx sea, whipped by the wind
Does make the white boat tremble
As the traitors slowly sip their tea
And watch the words assemble

The colours do not like the words
As they flash, blue, white, green
The memory lost on a sea of truth
As we wonder what they mean