Snake

Thin, diamond-eyed weaver
Of rhythmic, pulsating speech
Spells spill from forked, cunning tongue

Whispering secrets that never fade
Of things that are only just out of reach,
Union, knowledge unknown to the young

Ruddy red splatter on the worn blade
Spirit piercing flesh and taking root
Dew sits lightly on the petals of a flower

Serpentine speaker, knower, deceiver,
Thief in waiting to purloin the loot
Beneath the cover of the witching hour

©2024 Kevin Trent Boswell

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Author: Kevin Trent Boswell

Kevin Trent Boswell is a thing that once blinked briefly in and out of existence. It made noises and gestures while it lasted. The exact nature of its demise is unclear. Some sources say it collapsed beneath the weight of entropy and time. Other tertiary evidence suggests the possibility that it was destroyed by a predator, an accident, or perhaps even by itself. The truth of the matter is unknown. Luckily, no one cares.

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