The Urge to Scream

shush
the wilderness hears whispers better than screams
white noise, white fog, white bark, white lights
yet despite it all
a fathomless depth, a dark maw swallowed us
why venture forth?
shush
it's not a race. There is no winner
we wouldn't have come without a promised prize
much too much glitters in such darkness
reflective spheres in a circular perimeter
it's not that we were followed
shush
reverence in the throne room
these drapes: vine entwined
columns in rows, thick, resonant, alive
the marbled floor in mud and small bright pools
the regal seating, roots in ascension
shush
the dead flowers wake
their sleep a ruse for the thieves
bleeding from the thorns
the mantle's weight and color: heft, scarlet
entrance and rest, a heaving thump and toothy grin
call
bow, mercy, compromise
war bursts forth instead
shrill sounds in a sudden mania
the whole wood stirs
don that mantle, wash those hands