For The Lives He Stole

August began its slow descent
 Into the arms of winter
 Elongated shadows swept across rocks
 As they danced in starlight
 White hands yearned to stifle
 The chimes of children's cheer
 That hung in the air
 Like linen soaked in blood
 Their pink palms blistered
 Forced to grasp ragged ropes
 Wrestling with lurching sails
 Of anchored virgin vessels
 But urgent hands clawed the hulls
 And snatched them from the shore
 Sand lacerated unmarred skin
 That bled beneath waves
 Laughter faltered in their mouths
 And was torn from their throats
 Until clouded milk-white eyes
 Extinguished newborn stars
 Upon each day that followed from August to July
 Lines of crooked mourners bent double across the bay
 Lifeless flowers bled through silver foam
 Abandoned by listless hands bereft of faith
 Their bones grew old and wretched
 Black teeth crumbled into dust
 Grey rags fluttered in silence
 The last lament of forgotten love
 He does not bleed
 For the lives he stole
 No one grieves
 For the lives he stole