The Memory Collector

The collector emanates round and nigh

A shadow made flesh, an inky blotch on the red-stained night

Dissipating and growing in the long arms of midnight's limelight

Through dank and perfectly tidy rooms alike

🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑

At rotten mysteries and memories tenderly grasping

Mumblings springing forth from bared teeth gnashing

In gentleness with long fingers lashing

Eeking through on a languid cloud, tendrils splashing

🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑

Sapping from disquieted minds, anger, and agony

Pouring out like bile, deteriorating into a puddle of liquefied ebony

Like a swallowing pool of fluid indemnity

All life's evils drowning in false sagacity

🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑

Growing babes, too young to hide and run

Too old not to fight, collapsed in the shining rays of the sun

Obfuscated in the dusty base of an ornate toy chest, a silvery pop-gun

Held in prayer, fetish secure, every moment a war hard-won

🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑

Keeping truths locked away safe

So smiling faces don’t scoff or chafe

Far along, in the mid of the race

The collector will loose the contents of his secretive case

🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑

Chaos will immediately ensue

Unleashed upon the world, evil secrets born of truth

An impending quaking like to split the grounds and roofs

A spirit of vengeance born anew

K.B. Silver

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