Harvest Moon By Ron Porter
Indigo night with violent, violet edges;
deep blue mood and, the moon is a
silver sliver, a shark fin knifing the sky.
Riding on the wind they come with
icy eyes and certain cold steel death.
The stench of hell is on their breath.
And they have come to reap a harvest
that sows despair, confusion and fear.
Nor, will they moved by plea or tear.
Copyright © Ron Porter | Year Posted 2012
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