reaper

The events, that have led you into the drift, remain vague,

Stunned at the absence that crowds you, as a flutter

From the stinging bitterness of the swarming tundra

Causes a twinge, down the seam, of the fragile fabric,

You struggle, with the blurred recollection, violently dragged

Into the listless stray, and abandoned, as you proceed

In solitude, leaving you open to the blueak, still silence

Of a constant stream, afloat, here in this winter desert,

Straining to clarify what’s embedded within the pouring mist,

You slowly crouch, below the constant stream

And notice a crow, perched above, stretching its beak apart,

Expecting it to echo a screech, but this hush stays intact,

Hidden, in the thick darkness hovering atop the contrast

Is the hunter, and you, their paranoid, panicking prey,

Softly, does this stealthy pursuer glide through the desolation

Never losing sight of you, while you wonder inside your rattle,

Trying to discover the path, beneath the iron curtain,

You seek blindly, unaware of the sinking ground

Below the weary traipse, of a lost, rusted anchor,

Amused by your fatigue, the stalker readies the attack,

Tightening the spread, quietly, with precise patience,

Oblivious and still, you follow your own exhalation

To prove to yourself, of your own, beating existence,

It’s time, to challenge the draught, but where is the well,

And now, here I stand, above my fading martyr,

You’ve always lived in the drift, escaping my persistence

For far too long, until this night, when you gazed upon silent death,

Only I can hear its shrill voice, calling to me, my hound,

It’s a pity how memory can fade, and vanish from the freeze,

Finally now, the drift is completely vacant and abandoned,