Aphelion Issue 241, Volume 23
July 2019
 
Editorial    
Long Fiction and Serials
Short Stories
Flash Fiction
Poetry
Features
Series
Archives
Submission Guidelines
Contact Us
Forum
Flash Writing Challenge
Forum
Dan's Promo Page
   

Dirge

by John Marshall


We are in the midst of a vast darkness,
a black tide,
a malignant flood.
Torrid waters and murky clouds
cover our eyes, our souls.

All is rain,
heavy rain.

The sky is bleeding.

Earthen creatures move without sound,
without reason through a sea of red.
Is Love dead?
Surely it seems;
for what are mouths without words,
words without ears,
but a funeral mass?

The thief of innocence is about.
He clefts the fragile feet of children
and gives a daystar the breath of night.

The serpent bites its tail,
bites its tongue;
the bride of Spring drowns in a hail of bullets.

This is fear full-blown,
the synthesis of a nightmare,
a dusky mirror that drives the weary painter
to blindness.

It is a bitter root,
a poisonous flower;
and its time of treason has turned the golden hour
into rust.


© 2011 John Marshall

Find more by John Marshall in the Author Index.

Comment on this story in the Aphelion Forum

Return to Aphelion's Index page.