Bloodology

A parliment of howling dragons
seek sanctuary in flesh,
warm is good
when everything is at end.
And it is,
nothing remains but leftovers;
of madness
of friendship,
all good has gone
like it never was.
Fields without life
song with no heart
and playgrounds rusted into heavy soil,
children long disappeared
into offices and hangovers.
Mercy be to memories
that ignite a fleeting comfort
for wanderers to shelter
when grave wax becomes sweet.
Everything has fled now,
dreams have grown whiskers and claws
to protect and disguise on harsh roads.
The insane have sobered up,
attitudes been harnessed,
nothing is left of lust...

@Steven Francis poems 2009