It is
present, alive.
The terror rips
through growls and screams
too fast to understand,
then death.
Friends’, prey’s bloods mix
beneath our feet.
Gasping for air,
we sit stunned to silence.
The fear,
tangled in guilt,
lingers nearby,
waiting like god,
palpable and prescient.
We eat
and mourn the dead,
the flesh still warm
with heart’s thick blood;
then pray to be absolved.
Up late
while the rest sleep,
I paint dark walls
to tell the tale,
so others might survive.
But then
who will take time,
somewhere from here
to learn to read
marks scratched upon a wall?
The dust
from the cave wall’s
crude sketches mix
with ash and bone
across the rocky ground.
(April 26, 2024)
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