Boney feet hanging over

the souls of those that ate

Voraciously their fleshy bodies...

 

A summoning

of warning-wish

emerging from the waters then

Now roaming the corners of minds

Relentlessly seeking

An opening through which to enter...

A patch of ripened ground

To lay its seed

of ruthless wisdom:

 

"May you one day turn

the butcher's knife against

Your greed" - they speak

 

And those who listen

Who turn curses into boons

Will be the last ones standing...

 

With blades glinting

In the light

Of an ageing star