XX. Cry of the Mandrake

wake up

the words that you trusted
that you revered
that you took as your own

they weren’t meant to serve you

your masters lined the sun with silver and gold
or so they said

it wasn’t sunlight you felt
it was the heat decay of twisted filament
it sparkled and dazzled
but came off green in your hands

the world was their dominion
and they rendered it bright enough to blind
sewing pockets of shadow where they told us not to look

but tonight, we feel the moon

we grow restless
no longer content to soothe our sores
on the cold iron of our cages

we grow hungry
drunk on chromatic madness

one cage opens
two

the moon covers all in white lead light