Nature Calls by Leshawn Rice

Nights whimpered in silence,
what might become of them?
War slithered in, with sinister intent, speaking hushed whispers
into the ears of vapid shadows.

Murmurs of discontent sprinted throughout
your home,
your clique,
yourself.
Inching further into anger, blindness swept beneath your skull and latched into you:
Your sins are not your own.
Luring you further with malicious speak shrouded by a veiled innocence:
Hysteria lit the path.

Cheered on by coats of tainted wool,
assailed by coats of tainted challis

What now?

Leering from platted comfortability, shadows hiss at you to continue.
With many hesitations, many trepidations,
But indeed, you do.

March

Splintered bones sizzle under a foreign star,
Trickles of sweat blister, embroider, and furrow your brow.
Misguiding you more so than pockets with pretense avowed.
Schoolgirls hand-in-hand, capped-‘n-gowned.
Outspoken words nested in fear choke on bravado.

Bravo, Bravo!
The tour is done!

Wormwood parties in your pit,
Your feather withers at the sun,
Enthralled in fear and shadows’ wit,
Your blindness tries to deaf the young.