Throat of Life (day 2847)

Wind is howling through this house
Like inescapable tombs of our past
Flesh biting flesh
Wrapped with fabric so dusty it crumbles.

Yet in open webs I can still see through
Nostalgia hits an ancient bone
That even her subtle breath of wind
Finds it hard to escape duty of.

Slowly eyelids close as raspy sun strokes,
A dying ember reminds us each
That our throat of life
Calms the day’s very nature.

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