Matthew Lomas
What is that flapping, the shutters I think
a little trickle, a dribble, no more than a leak
Looks like pain, swirling and bloated, a freak
like fear, it politely and patiently waits.
A little trickle, an ocean that howls.
Drowning, aimless, blind and lost.
Like fear, it’s never far from your thoughts.
A sacramental shower of funeral shrouds
Drowning, aimless, murderous with rathe,
Heaving and thieving all who are slow
A sacrificial raining, leaving bounties for the crows
Guilty of murder, committed with sloth
Heaving and churning anything that grows
Horrid, tortured, bludgeoned and wrought.
Guilty of murder, pregnant with froth.
More will be taken before she will go
Look back at what you couldn’t sink
You’re in pain, like your empty and weak.
You’re dying, but you’ve still half your teeth.
What is that flapping, I shutter to think.