Thor

Prompt from Dew Drop Poetry drop in forum for April Poetry Month 2011

The darkness of your frame
The stealing of the night
The fork of your tongue
Marks harsh the words that fly.

Burnt cinder of thought
In the aftermath of your reign,
I count the claps of sound
Again again again

Smell of burnt skin, a taste of iron
In the mouth, closeness that smothers
North West East and South.
The deafening diminishes
you kiss the pain,
Again again again

Power overwhelming melds me to your side
Me myself I, have no pride.