Daggers
Knives which cut through
the turgid atmosphere
Arrayed on our shelf
like bowling pins in an
alley
Long forgotten quarrels
have left their mark
on the terrain
and on we(ourselves)
The deepening red
of an autumn sun
Pours through my window
like a fox
searching for its prey
The daggers tempt us
We are left
alone with them
Our sorrow runs through
the afternoon
On into the evening
When the light fades
we turn towards the
shining knives
Take hold of one
Slice the night in two!
Copyright © Matthew Anish | Year Posted 2009
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