Three

Down the carrion birds of night
Peck and tear and fight
Bleeding flesh and fractured bone
Lying there, in sand and stone.

*

Fingers cold and thin and white
Cloak as black and thick as night
Hoarse and hollow, dark as marrow
The voice of Death, demands you follow

*

Eyes shadowed with dreams and nightmares
Tears bitter and stained with fears
Lips bleed from biting them
Wrists spout from cutting them.