Blackbirds scatter from oaken towers
Away from the self-righteous thunder
The sound of one man clapping
As sunlight has never seemed so far away
A dilapidated shed
Dinged skin fit around loveless labor
Once quiet
In a meadow in the middle of nowhere
Of somewhere threatening to shine
Under the cold coat of winter’s summer
Where seasons spring into the fall
A rickety structure
Swaying upon kerosene-primed foundations
No longer quiet
Burning in the abandon of siring moonlight
Set ablaze by everything out of reach
Where people are when they are
Suckling the bosom of reputation’s reflection
Partaking in the Crone’s milk
Drinking from the comfort of apathy
Until warmth reaches in through the pane
And golden rays tease their tender touch
But the sun has never been so far away