Parade

Livid thoughts

Of an echoless thunder

Pregnant cadences at the click of a tongue

Rising waves tower fruitless anger

A state of worry

Turned sorrowful, shunned

Eyes of cracked

toneless lenses

Marching to the thumps

Of the beat

Of the drum

Hands fall limp off dry white corpses

Hanging at their sides as the aimless march on

Ears open

to unclosable clauses

Red ink runs fluid from propaganda’s trill

Shadowed gazes watch perchless ashes

Snow down

On what was

To mark what has begun