Beasteater - East Of The Wall

Built on high, the scaffold’s walls are hinged to the fold

The step slopes downward for none.

Their aims ran steep

So where, then, must you have tryst?

A crane of the neck- your crooked eyes rose to rest where the loft hung

The weight you’ve sweat here will not lighten your load

It gnaws on fragments of your tired soul.

Your line: an arc for progress

Your sky: a roof.

Your gate is closed.

The way for you is plowed

The cart you pull is culled from your bones

In darkness ashes coat your lungs.

In silence there is only defeat

Wisdom to you now is but a burden

The breeze that broke you came from your throat

No ire can keep burning.

No wrath is wrought by the lowly

A slow step and you’ve only to wait until, claws bent

Mind fogging, the next wind will topple you wholly

Cold mire, deep sopping… climb up and pull your load

The waves all broke, and sovereigns tend the falls

The tide broke, a cloven splash, and sovereigns tend the falls

As if rising again and again to be chopped at the knees was a gift

The impetus will fade with dusk

You sorrel nag, your coat is blood and rust