Under this night harpies circle
Swaths of red are dripping from their feathers
Formed in your youth, call it insatiable
Sponsored by one because
There in your youth, all but inevitable
Born alongside
The seer, ghost and savior
Even without hunger, they'll skin her
As blessed dead assailants
Equally they hover and linger
Over this earth, onlookers tremble
Last rights murmured, smirk, trapdoor, recoil
Equally they'll hover and linger
Over you
Comments (0)