The Magic of Death

Tattered wings drift like ebon leaves on a starless night,
Born of the autumn, death by the wind, whispers take broken flight,
Ancient archives of souls do throb,
Keys, lockless, for hand to rob,
Stolen delight from smirking lips
Takes upperhand in the rhythm of scripts,
Flames of moonlight flicker and flare
In the eyes of dark angles, black eyed and bare,
Falling silent, cries unheard,
Hindered, withered, caged like birds,
Domes held by death’s hand,
Sacrifice unfurled in the faiery lands.

~I would like to thank Sophie, whom I met at a poetry group in Taos, NM, for this poem.