crimson bank (wt) (edit 2.75)

[armadillosarecool]

Milk & Honey

I shudder at the thought of him,
hungry for the fat of the land
but only served a bowl of dust.

I recall him under thin shade, fumbling
after periscope snakes in the creek.
A snake bit him, he shrieked like a child,

only receiving a pinhole wound;
unlike the gaping crater
that formed his vacant world.

I blamed the well he sprang from, in vain.
The well had since dried to a husk, like the
brittle chaff that sprinkled through his fingertips.

I should have never let him out of my sight.
We lost it all when he couldn’t let go,
his vise-like grip latched on supple velvet.

Before the end, I recall his crooked smile,
succoring my tattered soul, cool as the
coffee-tinted madrone trunk.

I still hear his ragged weeping, dumbfounded
as a newborn colt in a world of bright hues;
wet from the womb and bound for the slaughter.

crimson bank (bad title placeholder for now)

I shudder at the thought of him
sitting hungry for the fatta’ the land,
but only served a bowl of dust.

I recall him, fondly, under thin shade,
fumbling after periscope snakes in the creek.
A snake bit him and he shrieked.

He received a pinhole wound,
unlike the gaping crater
that formed his vacant world.

We lost it all when he handled
a velvet temptation in the weeds,
should’ve never let him out of my sight.

I blamed the well he sprang from, in vain.
The well had since dried to a husk,
like brittle chaff sprinkled through his fingertips.

Before the end, I recall his crooked smile,
succoring my soul like a balm cool as the
coffee-tinted madrone trunk.

I recall his ragged weeping, dumbfounded
as a newborn colt in a world of bright hues.
An innocent colt bound for slaughter.

crimson bank (1.0)

I shudder at the thought of him
sitting hungry for the fatta’ the land,
and only served a bowl of dust.

I recall, fondly, as he fumbled
after periscope snakes in the creek.
A snake bit him and he shrieked.

He received a pinhole wound,
unlike the gaping crater
that formed his vacant world.

We lost it all when he handled
a velvet temptation in the weeds,
should’ve never let him out of my sight.

I blamed the well he sprang from, in vain.
The well had since dried. A husk
like the chaff, sprinkled through his fingertips.

With finality, I recall his crooked smile,
succoring my soul like a balm; cool as the
coffee-tinted trunk of the madrone.

I recall his ragged weeping, dumbfounded
as a newborn colt in a world of bright hues.
An innocent colt bound for slaughter.

crimson bank (v. 0)

I recall him best under thin shade,
fumbling after periscope snakes in the creek.
After, he’d embrace the madrone trunk,
courting relief from dry heat.

Strike one, for a snake that nicked him,
he shrieked and sucked imagined venom from the
paper-thin wound, unlike the gaping wound
that shaped a vacant world.

He sat hungry for a taste of freedom, denied
by a twist of fate. He cried out in accusation,
blaming the well he sprang from; in vain.
The well had dried since then. To him,

it never bore water at all. Unto me,
the well bore but a burden. Strike two,
from a velvet temptation in the weeds
where he strayed too far.

I recall his crooked smile, succoring
my soul as though a warming balm.
I recall his ragged weeping, dumbfounded
as a newborn colt in a world of color.

Ahead lies:
Strike Three.