CRIMSON SKY
The raven’s dark-vowelled voice breaks through the shire.
Heartless meaning caught on the horizon.
Autumnal birds,
signs of coming winter for the speechless tree,
oaken clock
who cast shadows upon thorny ferns
with wormy roots like fingers.
The meadow’s heart hears the star-gestured spells that signal fury with
syllabic notes of spider-tongued men.
The morning sheds blood,
hoards of adversaries
shadowed by sins.
Morgan Temple is a junior English major with a minor in History. She enjoys cliché horror films and toy hunting.
