‘Into The Breach’

Sjafril Riz

Into The Breach

[A Sinner’s Song]

Oh sweet companion death—

descend from the cashmere sky—

run your boney fingers down my spine

and tear it out!

Make a paper crane from my paper flesh,

so that I may pretend to fly one last time—

with hawks and squawking vultures,

round and round a smoking plume—

a funeral pyre,

that lights the trees like Christmas time.

Upon a sinners dream of heaven,

we shall sail,

to hell—to hell—

shall we chant?

Like the howling demons

that we were,

when we wore our paper flesh 

and spat in the face of death—

only to find that time,

was not our friend.

The end did cast a shadow so deep and dark,

sunlight swallowed by the precipice—

an endless eclipse,

that sneaked into the sky—

as soft and subtle as a kiss upon the lips,

that stripped sight from my eyes—

blinded by the promise of obscurity—

so close—

on the brink of immortality.

Shall we sail—

and finish this grotesque display of puppetry?

To hell— 

To hell—

We do chant,

as we row upon the river Styx—

heaving the ores at such a terrible speed,

fearing the crack of the bloody whip—

on until we breach the burning shore—

for what awaits us within smog—

we’re the sins we carved into our paper flesh

worth this horrifying venture?

What taste does hell have,

for a sinners fate?

Nick Wardean is the author of Dead, Calm, and Silent, a self-published collection of poetry.