Sunset, like a razor blade on tight white skin
bleeds down slowly before the moon’s hacked face.
Blue-veined sky, bruised by the evenings assault
the dying light leaches out like a slow-ebbing pulse.
A starprick punctures the membrane of the night
lancing with its laser light; a pinhead sealing
the wound tight as the suture of constellations
stretches wide, stitching the wounds of galaxies.
The nights attack, battering, bruising each blow
leaving a bejewelled imprint tearing
the heart out of the day.
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wow ok fresh take for sure…dont know if i have ever seen the night turn so vivid…smiles…nicely done…
Thanks Brian, it was different for me. One of those poems that came out of nowhere really and took me by surprise!
Another awesome write. You have a knack for word usage when it comes to nature. Love the pictures you paint with them! I can feel your seething beneath the beauty of your poetry. Passion is the greatest muse!
Hi Charles, you’re too kind, thanks for that. If we didn’t have passion we wouldn’t have poetry…
A violent evening. You should get together with James Ellroy.
Thats one man I wouldn’t like to meet down a dark alley!