Tuesday, 20th July 2021
At night in quiet solitude of the passing day
I turn the yellowing pages of the waxing moon
Molten in a burning light to show its age
And cast in pooling stains of inky blue
It glows in flickers of a dying candle light
Wrapped in a purple wreath, delicately crowned
An encroaching darkness consuming the night
It dims its eyes to rest amongst the drowned
Strained and wanting
I simmer below the surface,
a thousand pieces of light
stretched thin and glaring
piece together my skin,
thoughts rumbling through
troubled waters, fine lines
and wasted moments,
preoccupied with nothing