Mitchel David Ring

Crowded

There for a moment dead and gone, passing by, then into the crowd, obscurity...

the revellers in fields under moonlight, laughter and screams of something, maybe fear...

Awake and dreaming here where daylight fades...

Searching in the fray for the story’s end, last of the leatherbound secrets burned alongside the remnants of Empire...

Salt on the air, under the skin, the rain felt pooling in lines of the palm...

gather handfuls to carry on out into dry lands along a trail of candles...

Scythes in the field at harvest, sweet with rain fallen down down down...

Death crowns me under a night with no moon...

Hammer blows echo and never fade...

Behind the door was everything I ever wanted...

Scorched wood where the candles burned...

Sweet on the wind flies song and whisper...

Ink in the deepest veins, coursing and flooding out to the plains...

Vapors rise and swirl between us...

All roads lead to Romanesque dreams...