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Draped in blue she wept,
in the middle of the earth,
at the apex of the sun,
through the depth of the night,
when all the world circled round.

The wind blew from the east,
and with all the screams for revenge
on the day of the feast;
it was like being in the belly of the beast.
All she could do was stare at her feet
and weep, weep, weep.
Her heart pondering utter defeat
and feckless sheep.

The heart is the weakest,
strongest thing.
It clings to the edge
when the edge is gone
and hopes for another
when there is none.

Even the betrayer’s stretch
brought no amount of mirth.
The flowering Rod of Aaron
cut down by the shining krait
and all the sins that hound.

The belov’ed tapped her shoulder
bringing some amount of light
through the darkest of nights.
“It’s time to bury life.”

© 2017 rl bussél

This entry was posted in poetry.
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