Saturday, April 20, 2013

Night Crawler

The Echo of What Remains Collected Poems of Wanda Lea Brayton

Your stagnant voice crawled beneath my flesh,
rotted dreams fermenting fire.
You thought you were God’s gift,
but you were merely penance
for an unacknowledged sin.

Slither back into the tall grass
that hides you from sight,
your advantage point for pouncing
on the loneliness of others,
those who are too vulnerable 
to distinguish between a compassionate gesture
and your leering disguise.