Outside, under the shy moon
hidden by a translucent cloud,
the winds blow not. The trees
like good sentries stand still
and guard the omnious night.
The naive moon light only
magnifies the darkness, our
footsteps compound the silence
and the echoes of the cry of the
distant owl mocks this tense night
This night is fractured, crickets
chirp a crooked dirge, and the
stagnant air embraces the song
with all its long gone life.
Death smiles from everything.
Dawn drags itself but what
does it hold in its clenched fist?
When the sun chases this coy moon
what mystery would then unfold?
I stagger, alone, broken-hearted.
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