GHOST OF DOOMSDAYS

 GHOSTS OF DOOMSDAYS

I won’t unfurl my soul for your vulture’s gaze,

Not a tapestry torn open for your talons to rake,

The molten truth you’d dredge from my marrow blazes,

I’m a shipwreck’s carcass, splintered without them.  

He wasn’t a conjurer, no chiseled god,

But wielded an anchor’s steadiness I drank like wine,

Caged my tempest heart in a lantern’s frail nod,

Now I’m a gale-tossed ruin since he cut the line.  

You scrabble for my entrails, howl for my core,

So I’ll hurl it at you, a jagged shard bared,

I’ve cradled their ghost in a crypt I tore,

What’s it worth when the echoes flare?

I’m a fractured citadel,

A storm-chewed husk.  

My voice stays bolted, a rusted gate’s creed,

You thunder like a forge, I’m the anvil’s scorched bleed,

So I’ll hunker in your furnace, ash-cloaked and freed,

A crumbled monument—that’s our breed.  

You scrabble for my entrails, howl for my core,

So I’ll hurl it at you, a jagged shard bared,

I’ve cradled their ghost in a crypt I tore,

What’s it worth when the echoes flare?

I’m a fractured citadel.  

Won’t a marauder storm this fraying keep, rip its veins?

Sic your jackals on me, let them gnaw through the chains,

Loot this sinking galleon, its ballast of stains,

I’m weary of its ballast, let the tides reclaim.  

You scrabble for my entrails, howl for my core,

So I’ll hurl it at you, a jagged shard bared,

I’ve cradled their ghost in a crypt I tore,

What’s it worth when the echoes flare?