Sunday, September 11, 2016

BLACK SWORD


Into the low voice
You lay your death
Lipping the wind
Ticking the clock

Present moment pale
At the saddest part
That comes so late
Subservient to nature

Into the hollow eyes
You take a bait
of my imagery counts
Enticing a silent prey

Present moment flake
At the tighter hilt
That clink black swords
Into the fathomless dark

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