When wind’s silence
heralds boundless oblivion
and the trembles of cracked earth
raise the dust of tears
dried by the boundless footfalls
of sallow flesh

When a thread of gold
brings unearthly thought
and the misconception
of suns fallen
drives foolish men to their knees
in unending tremors

An army of one
frees the air from his fingertips
and stays not his opal blade
as it bites the rotted gray necks
of kings released from their wrongful bliss
by his trembling palms

An army of one
unconstrained by nature’s volume
freed by the sin of his naivety
yet bound by earth’s oldest secret
as the scarlet sun weeps
its bloodied tears

An army of one
his cloak worn through
by the acid blood of his deception
and his bones stilled;
the branches of a dying oak
which no longer caress the wind