The Fortune of Slow Erosion

Life has its way 
Molding and sculpting
My fragile form 

I shape-shift 
In the passage 
Of great calamity 

In the joyous swell 
Of victory’s
Fleeting refrain

Shall I bask
In the fortune 
Of slow erosion 
Or be swallowed whole 
By a surf of certain decay

For Scavengers

 
Savagely carved
And minced to uselessness
I remain, a souring heap
With vitals lumbering
Toward the arms of sure decay

Beneath the infernal rage
Of the high cart wheeling sun
My flesh singes away
Blistering in the scourge
Of my foolish stagnation

Paralyzed
My existence boils
Sprawled hopelessly
To endure
Submissively and frail

No complaints
Can escape me
In this rightfully earned
Mire of strife

The Timeless Crumbling

 
Great pillars cave
And tumble into dust
In their timeless crumbling
As they cleave the infinite fog

Thick plumes rage on
Reveling at fallen titans
As swarms stagger mournfully
Through the familiar span of decay

These fumes matter not
For it is truly all they know
The shards and the shambles
Are the beloved signatures of home

Let the sewers course on
With their foul and sinful brew
And let black lungs heave
Blissfully, charred, and useless