Crash of the Moor

A blanket of black and blue,
Spread out through moor, and
Pillagery among the depths,
Of western fleet and shore.

Entumbling lots cast forth,
Deep among grey ashes,
Swallowed within sultry pits,
Of distasteful despair.

A subtle swoon and lick of lips,
As death returns its toll,
Sultry taste buds mutter words,
Floor bequeathed in bitterness.

Walls crash as a river flows,
Pounding to a luminescent rhythm,
Time stopping with a hand at twelve,
The other just a memory.

Blankets constrict, a rhythm beating,
As hears of the hallowed swoon in distaste,
Pounding at the sultry words,
Bequeathed under luminescent depths.