Soothing, Say

Any fevered who in a why
cast the battle scarred bones,
bled blind of their longevity,
bitter oracles they are now, see
the silence drops asleep
on smiling toothy ridges, clink
goes the starved scarecrow scales.

A shadow collapses and
rises a doubled over wing,
a lazy mosaic breaking in the face
choking the wind's crumbling jaws
lapping low at the fray,
waiting thick for hand ringed tears,
still close to bloodlines receded,
still closer blunt mortar bolts
to drown clinging cross hairs.

Just the same, who- turn-
and why- still so young
they beat back the deep fall
of a thousand summers
oh
and then it is the same again-
just the old bones
still from tossed hand.