Laebedah's Poetry

[laebedahs]

The Holy Flies
they are a-speaking
tell me, “die die!”
“Get off this mortal coil!”

And me, I stop the leaking.

Remind me of the white fires
when they once danced across;
into the opening, the void of today,
I will travel ‘cross the white fires
And into the night.

My journey has come to an end
the life of free-flowing nature, undead
Break the cycle!
Sequence no more!
And Fade.

The Holy Flies are dead.
The leaking continues still.
I did not stop it.

And in my hand I hold their instrument of death:
A flyswatter.