Skeleton skinned

Whispers whistling in the blowing wind,
I hear them, I don’t fear them calling for me,
In the disappearing light, I’m just able to see
The fallen flesh of the skeletons skinned.

Lingering in the night is the fright
Between the hour of the owl and the rat
There’s only a cry, a swift fly of a bat
Now is the time to run, now it is time to bite.

Shades of grey and shadows will cover me,
The blood is blooming like a mesmerizing flower,
And lower in my guts I feel the need, the power
Of the dark and the dusk around the ashen tree

Lurking in the twilight of the corners, there is he,
He, who is the mellow marrow and the bones,
Risen from the depth, from beyond the gravestones,
He’s the scary scarecrow, the rickety creep
Of the skeleton skinned, that is now called

‘Me’.

© Rudi J.P. Lejaeghere
18/03/2016

© Copyright Rudi Lejaeghere