Belmont Vista
Belmont wallows in westering
twilight, sheep graze in cold
pastures, hares scamper,
ignoring a circling hawk.
Blackpool's urban sprawl crawls off
up to the scarred horizon, the Tower*
pricks the heavens like a syringe,
spilling the blood-red sun.
Evening falls, I'm all alone
and free to stare,
a wondrous, star-flecked firmament,
a phosphorescent flare!
Copyright © Keith Bickerstaffe | Year Posted 2016
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