blood moon
the blood moon hangs low in the sky,
beckoning the call of fang and tooth.
the circling of the shadows, one by one-
we're picked off.
hear nothing, see nothing, all is well. 

the heavy wounds on the flank,
weighing down,
the thorns of roses we've ruined,
cling to us like jealous lovers
as the blood moon hangs low.

the frost bites at naked feet,
cold air swimming through our lungs,
picked off as flesh and bones
past lives and deeds dying with us,
dying in a silent breath,
as the blood moon watches overhead.

on the cross our sins are listed,
one by one drawn in the frozen soil,
without a noise our words removed,
silent martyrs, a head made of stardust,
ruined martyrs, bathed in red.