Thursday, December 15, 2011

Sealed Tombs

Breathe no moisture,
Are bone dry to the touch,

Have no dust
suspended in their corridors,

No heat, nor cool,
No shade, no bright sunlight,

No footfall to be heard,
No echo,

Do not interrogate the darkness
or finger the flesh,

Without conscience

they walk our worst dreams,
Sleep by day,

and by night no spectres
rattle the bones,

But, when their guts are revealed,
gasp their curses.

© Martin Porter 2006

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