Persian Wool

The sun bell tolls 
and into the wrought iron,
pillars of sun.
streaming through nets of glass,
they hold back the blood-soaked night.
the vengeful night.

The looking glass of sunrise
finds the carpet of persian wool,
so far from its home;
and the dying feather,
a gash across his fragile neck.
the murderer shrinks.

The laceration,
the rapids of lifeblood begin to spill.
the persian wool,
darker now.
and the sun bell tolls again.
it rings with pity.

The feather lifts his feeble wing
and gazes out onto his sky, 
his birthright,
his domain.
never again.
the murderer covers its ears.

The faucet,
faster now.
resistance is futile.
the sun bell rings it’s final ring,
and the feather lets go
as pillar’s warmth strikes its face.

Gone now,
gone forever more.
the murderous night takes its last,
and runs
leaving freedom’s soul attested 
by a dark stain on persian wool.

emmett

VT

18 years old

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