See how the crow hops across the spired field
dragging its shadow,
how the skulls blanch,
that the sun does not return the dead.
See how they rest, mounted upon pikes—
all the trophies.
Listen to the bald wind,
how it swoops across the field,
moaning through hollow eyes,
wailing the dirge of a vanquished race.
See the gray dust fleeing like ghosts.
Regard the withered tree,
how the vultures roost, bloated,
patient sentries awaiting another carrion feast.
Your sun turns red.
Tomorrow more trophies shall grace the field.
Tomorrow your skull shall join them.
dragging its shadow,
how the skulls blanch,
that the sun does not return the dead.
See how they rest, mounted upon pikes—
all the trophies.
Listen to the bald wind,
how it swoops across the field,
moaning through hollow eyes,
wailing the dirge of a vanquished race.
See the gray dust fleeing like ghosts.
Regard the withered tree,
how the vultures roost, bloated,
patient sentries awaiting another carrion feast.
Your sun turns red.
Tomorrow more trophies shall grace the field.
Tomorrow your skull shall join them.
Robert E. Petras is a graduate of West Liberty University and a resident of Toronto, Ohio. His fiction and poetry have appeared in Phantom Kangaroo Issue 13, Haunted Waters Press, Camel Saloon, Death Head Grin and Speech Bubble Magazine.