Ardent wings undulate at length,

Reverberating echoes through

Tomorrow. Beware the sound of

Halted silence. Beats build up strength,

Reading constellations until

Infrared lights fret for sorrow.

Through the rotten wood you abound,

Increasing stillness you borrow.

“Cricket! Cricket! Don’t stand so sly.

Chirp,” they said, “‘til the day you die.

Right through the wood, you hear us cry.”

“Irate they were, oh me oh my.

Could I not chirp? Are all men not

Kings? The Valley of Death consumes

Earth. Angels in silk-woven wings

Taunt me in siren songs they sing.”