So Far Ill-Gotten
dark hood blocks sight
down tunnels lead
stone worn from blight
woven aromas of the dead
a march towards ends
monsters must be fed
openings below bends
bloody barefoot stains
ages of red from friends
light suddenly gleams of chains
the thud of doors flown
opening into the planes
head dress pulled; sky shown
a brilliance blinding
gold radiates off the unknown
captor’s bones begin grinding
stone becomes, flesh begotten
that presence spellbinding
clad in flows, not cotton
a hand reached beyond
a love so far ill-gotten
luck thought ill-spawned
7/18/22 – Andy McRae
RadioactivePoetry 