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January |
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a poem by Peycho Kanev
Bless my way
I am the snarling face in the darkness.
I am a clock without hands,
showing the right time.
The stillness absorbs the screams.
Stones shake loose in the tombs.
The ghost of Villon weeps,
the creature creeps toward the sun.
Lay down and wait like an animal,
like a king within the grave,
like a woman for her prey.
Hell is right here--embrace it.
It will come,
soon or later.
and when it does
when it does
there is only one way--
smirk.
showing the right time.
Stones shake loose in the tombs.
the creature creeps toward the sun.
like a king within the grave,
like a woman for her prey.
soon or later.
when it does
there is only one way--