Morbid Morning Tale

Written by

Reindeer song and a mug of ale

Bred monsters in my wake

In a sea of trust dispersed

In the morning morbid and pale.

Frosty froth frozen in frost

Mist unveiled a veil it formed

Over judgement swift it prevailed

Into the pallid noon and lost.

Genie’s words and a dream unfurled

To a progeny from deluded fools

Masked in a cold embrace

Daylight upon a sour soil lay curdled.

Retribution of our ancestors’ follies

Echoing wails in our caves

Languid lives over skins dreamless

Upon a threnody scripted on poppies.

Dancing flakes, an opera primordial

Hymn sung in sombre tones

Blowing trumpets from an otherworld

Caravan moon and aurora cordial.

Trench song among men bold

Through marrows of blood and bone

Mother, child and father in despair

Cries of vengeance I withhold.

And a forest sheaths our grievance

Amidst waves of rustling acceptance

And the rain pours upon its foes

Like ragged beggars in throes

Farmers’ sickles outgrown their use

Flash of light, sharp abuse

And the flakes fell to ground

Like frozen tears of widows abound

And in the morning morbid and pale

Empty mug of ale, demise of a tale.

Ink Idle