by Rickey Rivers Jr.
Fingerprints stain the glass, a scene seen at sun’s rising.
Fortified home, the demons cannot enter easily.
Blessings have protected for many moons,
soon comes a second session of protection,
life as a holy man. Prayer sent, tongue rattled,
hell spawns disallowed entry into home or mind.
Nights are rough, banging, clanging, shaking, taking
of cattle and sluggish winged ones.
Bloody feathers are not uncommon sights.
Illuminate faith. Fight the fanged ones internal, external.
No sword or gun but power akin to lightening.
Burn your foes. The moon shines on their skeletons,
shimmering, demonic, suitable tools to craft
weapons for soon slain kin.
Rickey Rivers Jr was born and raised in Alabama. He is a writer and cancer survivor. His work has appeared in Perhappened, Crepe & Penn, Nymphs (among other publications). His third mini collection of 3×3 poems is available
now at amazon.com/dp/B07VDH6XG5. On Twitter @storiesyoumight.
