(i)
they had it finally in a grip.
letting the dead lie, in the mist, in the boughs behind,
their whispers were there and urging them on.
tangling in the music of the beasts call.
it wrestled against the nets,
lashed at pikes and swords.
the captors wept.
childhood flowers grew under the churning paws.
its breath smelled like forgotten summer nights,
the mortals had the beast.

(ii)
where they cut its chattering scales, and the blood ran free, they drank,
desperate to slack nostalgias thirst.
they did not cry out when a swiping claw cleaved a brother.
said no words when the jaws came loose and snapped up a soul,
flesh and fantasies all.

(iii)
they drank and drank of yesterday,
mouths red with those lost promises,
with a terrible scream the monster broke its binds and fled.

already the golden memories were fading, as hands found pikes
and swords among those familiar petals.

the thirst returned. dry.
turning the past into ashes.
the men that lived, still hungered for the past.

 

 

 

 

 

Photo by Elham Fidani on Unsplash