DEIMOS
we've all got blood on our hands
something somewhere had to die
so we could stay alive
Away, away, away, in the crisp blue outlines of the sea, stealing over his barricades, walls, and plumage, breeze plucking at his feathers with its salt and threat of rain. He took to the skies anyway, scaling the turrets and corresponding wind, alone on the brink of nothingness – swallowing down the blistering potential thriving in his throat, in his chest, the vexation of some unseen rage beginning to build. Perhaps he merely meandered in the wisps of showers because it wasn’t overburdening or taxing, not a mental volley, not a physical exertion, existing on the whims of clouds. Solace from intended sanctums, erupted family dinners, talks of weapons and doors, munitions against and for; the repose slowly sinking away and becoming more trials and tribulations. Maybe it was through no fault of their own, harpooned into its midst, or maybe they invited it by simply being who they were.Eventually the skies opened up, and the eagle was forced to land. The beak made him incapable of sneering, but he might’ve likened to it through his blood – gracefully descending in a long, slow circle, before talons raked upon the wooden platform and port. Then he shifted back to his normal, human Colossus form, stare not going over to ships being tucked away or heading out, but towards the elongated paths leading, winding down towards the beach. Deimos wore no hood, not bothered by the slight chill dampening through wild hair, coasting over shoulders, but committed to a dutiful march, pondering if he should be returning to the inn, or tempted into the pull and lull of the ocean’s reach again.
