TWISTING KNIVES

My soul moaned
down to my marrow of my cold chilled bones
standing with my back against the wind
facing all my sorrows.

As twisted knives turned about
causing my blood to flow about the brown now red ground
and a shallow scream was heard
my breath seeping out of a gaping infected mortal wound.

Stumbling to my knees, holding tight to my chest
knowing I heard the ravens call
and my soul felt like ashes
as though my spirit had been cremated
but only my body remained
a worn diseased ridden hollow shell.