All Eyes Focus On the Vanishing Sun

Old the tome, dust floating breeze

the rattle rushing through the trees

the faintest whisper that bit the lip

the eyes that blink, the hands that slip

 

The steps that quicken down the path

the brow that furrows in reddest wrath

the prayer that falls on deafened ears

the lie that binds us through the years

 

The plea that needles in the brain

the roads washed out by winter rain

an echo in the empty hills

the shadow cast on window sill

 

Same the way that lights the hall

the foaming mouth that shouts the call

the feet that rasp and drag the street

the claws that clutch the dripping meat

 

The tongues of flame that pierce the night

the teeth that gnash, the nails that bite

the wasted, beaten, broken breath

in jagged gasps it begs for death

 

What is past is past

What is done is done

All eyes focus

On the vanishing sun