Wednesday, December 17, 2014

When you only cut off the branches, what remains

We are here as omens
     my brothers and me.

We stand here erect 
     dismembered, disemboweled

The quaint view of this peaceful land
     jarred and jolted by our presence.

The master of the house,
     we call him Vlad

He has taken our lives, our limbs,
     our souls

He has put us on display for all others to see.
     A warning 

of what their fate may be.


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