AVANT-GARDE

The archaic skull of the exul
Now buried below
Where her life was annulled
Still born is her silence
Quaking beneath
The unearthed eidolon
Seeking words she must speak
A banished banshee
Once wailed her warning
Of impending doom
Upon mourners each morning
Yet her screams
Consume dreams
Of the minds she has scarred
For the exul.....exiled
Was like minded
AVANT-GARDE..!!
So in her honour
I send fragmented shards
From the ostracized odes
Of my soul .....
With regard.

Carey Milton ©