LoneWolfe

the sky was rusted barbed wire
that ripped until the sun bled red;
the seething eye was then slipping,
slowly dying,
screaming embers before its death.

the crossbones and medallions
and open graves left unseen
in those hazy heads of dead and metal,
and who knows what this means?

a crimson teardrop
from a Stormy Knight,
so bleeds the black moon of the raven's eye.
a rider of clouds,
holding back the light-
i ride.

-Rg