Truce For Ruin Poem by Deb Panda

It slept on the raw sediment-
In a nice vivid shape dwells my thought,
Speaking of the volume it doesn't hold,
Deep and steep down the undergrowth.
Smelled the fear, tastes this heart-
An argued claim where the seed dies,
And the rest is shaken till last breath,
Feeble in end, and stirred, and rests forth.
The next forgiven, they speak for,
With turn and dust in deceased past,
Takes me the angel disguised in terror-
That truce for unfolded Ruin at last.