Siravyadha

Bloodied moons reap in iris’
through whispering clouds
over the hollow night.
His placid gaze reflects
a ring around the rosy.

My pneuma is wounded as
I am contrast of onyx skies.
Only I am attainable,
with charcoaled center–
brittle to his touch.

Pierced by his wisdom,
such fluid’s vital for the damned
so let it spill and cleanse the hour,
containing dread in a halo
to distinguish sincerity.

This epidemic is withering
for the public to recede or
at least awe full of sympathy.
Nothing lasts, like the
phenomena
of an eclipse.

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About Robyn

"If you haven't known insanity, you haven't lived."
This entry was posted in Other Trivial Pursuits, Recovery (USA) and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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