The fanfare of Death's fiddle surrounds my shell like mind, tapping at the appearing cracks, waiting for the breaks.
Beneath furniture I attempt to crawl, out of the light, into the safety of shadow.
His song growing louder and louder with each passing dream like state. Is it nightmare? Is it friend? Or is it his only way of telling me?
Piercing the morning smoke, the cracked handleless cup waits for the fool's finger to seduce the shards towards his mouth, with hope of the relief from thirst.
Always empty, I part from the page and return to the song, his song, the only one I now hear.
I watch as the skeletal shape lift his arms from his sides and places his fiddle under his jaw.
And everything that follows from now until the silence, is the fanfare of Death's fiddle.
Beneath furniture I attempt to crawl, out of the light, into the safety of shadow.
His song growing louder and louder with each passing dream like state. Is it nightmare? Is it friend? Or is it his only way of telling me?
Piercing the morning smoke, the cracked handleless cup waits for the fool's finger to seduce the shards towards his mouth, with hope of the relief from thirst.
Always empty, I part from the page and return to the song, his song, the only one I now hear.
I watch as the skeletal shape lift his arms from his sides and places his fiddle under his jaw.
And everything that follows from now until the silence, is the fanfare of Death's fiddle.