“A Gathering” by Colin Nickle

Supersede me
Try your best
Hunting is over
Quiet the rest

Chores to beckon
Theories to reap
Air in the rattle
A red chest to keep

Helmet one seeks
Bugles and swords
Abscond the reasons
A wit to afford

Truths to smother
Certain freeze frame
Copper in cinder
Ezekiel slain

Musty high season
Planks tender and sore
Furtively green
Illusion a lore

Maps on the wall
Pluck, pluck direction
Kerosene king
A single selection

Addict, addict
Was it ever so
Industrial lives
Everyone knows

Sorry, amen
If you could see
Unravelling the bend
Seriously

Rigid they told
Uncomfortably none
See as far
Sold to the one

Alacrity lingers
The last to leave
The dawn adjusts
Erudite conceived

Spied pink love
Drenched facade rips
Ladder high skies
Illusion takes grip

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