The Gate

There you are

minding the gate

Shrouded in gossamer veil

Creped skin pulled tight

against crumbled feature

Lips thin as your soul

Mouthing a single word…

mine.

Myopic leer in search

of  shekel

tarnished by filth of grubbing claw

Molting grackle

perched on pinched shoulder

Jackal

maimed by greed’s keen snare

Keeper of the gate

Key in death clutch

cold against barren breast

Heaving a single gasp…

mine.

 

There you are

Dying proctor at your feet

Cowed ‘neath threat of whip

Defiled by selfish bidding

Liquescent in your gnawing glare

 

Careful my dear

Mind your mount with gentle hand

Gather your scraps of wool

tight against withered bone

Winter nears

Icy wind whispers single word…

Mine.

 

 

 

 

Daily Prompt: Gate

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About Phil

Hi, my name is Phil. I’ve managed to escape the corporate world, rid myself of excess belongings, travel the country extensively in my old Winnebago, and find a new home on a beautiful barrier island in the Gulf of Mexico. I define myself as: a free spirit, a writer, a philosophical anarchist, a poet; a lover of nature, a lover of art, a protector of animals, as well as a devoted friend and partner
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