Softly Flap the Winged Clawed Digits. #SpokenWord #PoetryNarration

Softly flap the winged clawed digits, Of the darkly silent smidge of a death bearing, life searing bat. It swoops above, and had dived upon the head. It speaks, and squeaks, and listens intently, As its night eyes, and mouth combine in perceptive proprioception.

The clouds are white, as the gloaming begins to reap the sky, Softly speaks the squeak of the uncannily canny, unsettling bat, As it circles, with bacteria infested wingtips, And fangs from which maroon berries or blood drips, And disease, an aura, surrounding it, As it follows the moonlit aisles of night sights.

And in the distance, something preternatural speaks, A voice or was it the rustling of leafless trees, squeaky clean, The whisper in the worrisome willows, An instinct speaks, It says I lack some secret knowing,

Softly flap the winged clawed digits, Of the darkly silent smidge of a death bearing, life searing bat. And I ignore the otherly instinct, And head into even stranger things.