beating of wings

death was. there in the first place,

death, and something else too,

gently trapped between his

bony fingers, coated with grey

dust… a lonely shimmering light

the light moved, fluttered

like a newly hatched moth

with trembling wings.

death laughed throatily,

the moth crawling in his palms

delicate moth-feet tickling

it´s wings gleaming, pulsing…

with vibration,

growing larger,

stronger…

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s