Incessant, the rant,
a near chant arises.
Peckish eyes dart from alcove
to candle flame,
to sky, to die.
Life fades inward and out
stout wings and memories of
dead things free to see, to roam in shadows.
Night, the crypt of dreams holding
moments at bay today and every new
tomorrow. When light returns,
he yearns for broken promises
to resurrect from his dead mind,
reminding of the echoed caw
the blackbird swore. Only this;
only now and nevermore!
(C) Copyright Walter J Wojtanik – 2014