Saints and Stains

Dreams disturbed, 
Disrobed
And discarded

You left a huddle of
Plastic flowers
Frozen
In a winter field,
Where the wind 
Cuts like 
The lullabies
Leaking from your 
Broken jaw
Facing down a fading skyline
With artificial veins
Forsaken, without blood,
Buried deep within our bones
A treasured hope 
That left you jagged and cold.

Championless, 
We weed,
Growing, frigid thorns that
Comfort bandaged hands
Winding up like
Ribbons to our throats
A sacred knife inching
Closer, taking liberty to hidden vices.
Climbing mountains, a fugitive's run
As autumn spread its
Hand around the sun.