Shell

The times bland over life and soul,
As magma quells the din of stories —
Mid-plot from time and yet preserved —
Lifeless and lost in the cavities,
Now void of breath, and void of touch,
Sculpted shades of muted ecstasies,
Of life,
and death.

Years add layers to shrinking bones,
As snowfalls encase maturing pines,
Bending beautiful to gravity's call,
The skyward ascent gently declines,
As an upward gaze in muted allure,
Bows sorrowful to a frame's confines,
In life,
and death.

An impish spirit unfurls its wings,
Both born and beholden to the sod,
With apocalypse-sight, steps on air,
Denying a disenchantment facade,
And though to plummet will yet arise,
As if flesh shared a kindred with God,
In death,
and life.