The Heat of Danger

What might come, I suppose. I will say most of this is in fancy however.

 

The cats lay upon perches,

In the midnight crawl, and treks-

And here they all lay,

Scattered like carcass bones,

B’neath the sun,

Oh, the sun so sodden,

As it drips its heat,

Squeezed like a rag,

To engulf us with it.

Here do we labor,

Here we’re toiling,

Away to nothing,

For the cats,

Know they’re languishing,

As they lay so, high-

Like little birds,

To be near a fan,

Spins of the flow,

May cool them,

In the night’s heat.

The cats lay like carcasses,

Their fur sagging low,

Skin melting from them . . .

Yet, it is daylight,

Not the terrible night.

Why when ’tis so bright,

Do demons, and picked,

Turned over animals,

Scavenged by the forsaken,

The lands of

Lost, forgotten devilry-

The spirits-

Why does the sun,

So hot . . .

It wrenches me like a vice!

Drags me, down low,

To endless suffering-

I watch the cats.

They sleep peacefully,

Like friends on that china cabinet-

But outside the sun blazes . . .

Hotter each day,

And for some reason,

All that I can see-

Are dead carcasses.

Reviews

[Whiskurz]

The heat is a terrible thing.....I think it's taking its toll everywhere......Good write.....Whisk

[Foxemerald]

Thank you, Whisk. I appreciate the comment. It's nice to see a familar face on this site =)