Death of the father

 

eclipsed doorway of blood

 

follow thine own star,  I suppose it should be said

before darkness yields to dawn and night to the black net

oxygen winds humming across the long empty beach

trace fog and sand skimming around the dead from the seas

 

Man the post & gust the wind for Abraxus

Midpoint the waves & run on the edge of this knife

In dark all night visions blood spills out and soaks the yard

So upon waking the Adjustment Bureau

Blunts the goal 

Roads the gain 

Cuts against self pity

And forces discipline

To drive on for balance and an effort made

Remember, you fool!

Death is upon thee and her black shrouded skull whispers ever closer.......

The road to your house