In a lone blind house

In a lone blind house, the silent whispers
The knee worn floor, the silent cold basin
Its flesh driven into the naked earth
Dug of the worm soil, alms for the beggar.

In a lone blind house, the withered dreams
Where once the meals to empty chairs
Quickly the riding of time with its hound at heel
Holy the praying, the believing in a world of tales.

In a lone blind house, the shadow of a hand
It came from the dying town, a wandering fever
Children lay still, mouths in their throats
Eulogies dug of the worm soil in the naked earth.

Copyright © 08/29/2016 lance sheridan®

WPNP