Et sepelierunt ossa

 


Your breath is sharper than the snap
back of a whip, grasping in vain
for the bridle of your wild pulse.
 
 
Bare branches loom, eclipsing
moon-drenched clouds —  
be still, the dire wolves howl.
 
 
Steel begets steel and true
swords may stay a man… These
beasts draw nearer for blood.
 
 
Your brother has fallen, neck
wrenched — no small victory  
for the malefic trees, that reached
 
 
and slammed him from the saddle.
His horse rears, its reins snagged,
in their second stake for a life.
 
 
A timely leap delivers you the seat
— the blade slashes the leather free,
all hope entrusted to a fistful of mane.
 
 
Your howls replace fading echoes,
in unholy, wordless vows.
et sepelierunt ossa