[Suzerain of Sheol]

I wrote this one today. It's rather odd, being a single sentence over twenty lines long, but I think it flows well enough that that isn't a problem. I wrote it on a whim, musing on the perspective of a stillborn child. 'Cause that's a normal thing to do.

Biography of a Stone

I woke to the sound of lynching,
with the shivering sun crawled
in naked witness from my home
out into the winter streets, newborn
to discovery and with it, the rebirth
of fear,
for the doves who left to warmer havens
and of the walls so high around me
framing the dawn in its ponderous justice,
heaving with shadows in the morning's apologia,
its distant regard transfiguring flame to unchanging
frost,
with the sound of only bare feet upon the rimy planks
to break the quiet of my reverie,
before the pallid gleam of hope went out,
constricted with a noose of passing moments,
and when soft hands closed about me,
I could not but follow in acquiescent silence,
even as they draped me 'neath the gallows
and my red-eyed executioner,
from his masked mouth whispered in angelic
remorse, “I'm sorry.”