The Death Chapter

Without invite or knock
like bullets on a doorstep
the prince returns from no return
to secure a grim flock
to his eternal rags.
Vertigo sleep
without dream or chapter.
No mortal pain or terror
for the flesh.

Beyond the valley of the gun
there lies no carrion,
harsh kennels do not stand
in the shadow of bombs.
The mighty freckled river
hides no lash from Keres.

Onward through motley vines
and starry webs.
Man of skin
lay curled as one skull
within jaws of tender malice.
Infant of the sands
giant in eternal seas.
Smooth viper scales
in the awakening,
the storm of black
washes out damnation in our colons.

Beyond the harbour of the drowned
there are no cadavers,
and sick beds do not line bare walls.
The genorous touch
of the hemlock eyed prince
turns Man from scar to feather...

@Steven Francis poems 2009