The Dagger

Do you remember what you're killing for?

Empty solemn hands find their way
Around a dagger, a silver blade
That could cut moonlight into
The thinnest slivers to drape across
A loved one like a wedding veil,
Yet bruised hands like these
Have far crueler intentions.

 

A stride that takes up entire corridors
Leaves heavy footsteps that crunch against
The broken backs of martyrs, a cause
Lost to the sands of time which slip through
Our fingers like water out of a broken cup.
Languid movement falls behind a silent click
And a door opens into the darkness of a bedroom.

 

Walls mirror each other in unwelcoming silence
As an intruder pardons himself inside, the only
Beauty in the room being the cool burn of a light
That emits from the shallow depths of a bed.

 

The sight is lost on these daggered hands,
Which lack the concept of just and unjust,
Only moving to fulfill a goal sent to them
Through signals that course through their
Entire being, and they are none the wiser.

 

A swift brush of metal against skin leaves
The room flickering with fading light,
Blank walls closing in like guards around
A heretic, a hollow voice that rings out in
Discontent. Colors beyond comprehension
Overflow the bed and drip onto the carpeted
Floor, yet tarnish the dagger an infuriating tar black.
There is no disapproval from the frigid weapon, however,
For it is man who commits sin.

Reviews

[Matthew Kult]

dangerously pacifying like a nightmare teetering on chaotic eroticism.

Quite lovely

Matthew