|
The Faded Diary |
as punctuated by
The fates apathy. There we stood
On the cliff edge. The smoke
Rose looking back into the
Smouldering metropolis -
Death breeds ugly children
that smashed window
In the night the frost briefly turns
It's back away. The ferns remain
Among the thistles, in a marriage of the
bitter and the bland light. The shards
flicker under the ephemeral moon.
harvest, the unspoken night
The mice betray themselves by their
Masses. All the roots fade away into the
Deep, deep, sleep, of winter. Beneath the
ebony winter soil the dulling hypnotism
of the still lightless air. Ink and life run dry
copyright 2016
Jonathan
Beale |
