Poetry

Timber

A web of
whispering limbs
armoured like the sun.

Sun-dappled gilded scales
dance with every murmur,
overshadowing their forebears.

Mighty forms stretch,
striving for a glimpse of a
blinding, ethereal eye.

With the kiss of cold,
their glory is stripped
and they are left.

The chill deepens.

Rusted armour cascades
to crunch beneath
the feet of weaker beings.

Or, it is abandoned,
concealed anew by
a colourless shroud.

Tired of life,
they wait in silence
for the touch of metal.

At the last they feel
curious warm tongues
flaying their flesh.

Sam Wadkin