(what if I hear them) whistle and cry

I hear the dead
cry out
in the colours
of the burning night

even my shadow
bows down
before them

these
are the stranger days
with ghost silhouettes
that I
can see

this killing ground
is the shade
of dying fire

and I am
alive
I wonder
why

I am alive
perhaps
to play
the witness

and what if I
were hung
to drain and dry
suspended
from my toes

what if the sound
of the wind
in my throat
was
the only proof

of a lie

troubled days
troubled thoughts
troubled visions

trouble
everywhere I go

there is no sound
that is not
the dead

whistling

the wind blows
without care

whistling

and the creaking
of each rope
is a separate song

the creaking
of each soul
is a sigh

I have to turn
away
lest these images invade me
in my sleeping

I think
I may have known them
once
but now I need
to turn my face
away

oh
too late

oh
too long

oh
my shadow
will remain

oh
and oh oh oh
held up
by the toes

held up
by the silhouette
of toes
and constant calling

constant whistling
and a constant
call

~

Reena’s Exploration Challenge #fads