Dusting #2
A campfire meddley full of nostalgic glee,
The man and his shadow sang ghostly lyrics,
Through the myriad of mourning trees,
The voices would go unheard by folk.
A tart aroma of devastated boar,
Shook hands with the man’s scent,
Around it went on a hellish feris wheel,
Until the little bastard was no more.
The self-proclaimed bard,
Was an emperor of forlorn domains,
His hunting knife was his lover,
It was orgasmed to acuity.
His eyes were alight,
Via the flames and the night,
He thought back to older days,
When the world was young.
