Bruised Midnight
In the dreary whisper of midnight’s groan,
when streets escape the punctured cry
of thinning breaths, a line of stars blinks
trading some warmth with human arms...
beyond numbing sighs this dark possesses,
there are more wrists handcuffed on tainted
metal of cups and breadcrumbs for waifs,
as youngsters huddle in damp corners, till
a single violin strain bites the screeches
of grief and pain, of a crowd rendered
by lesions worn: a gauze of dingy shapes
coiling in fetal postures like bruised grass,
................
For Rob Carmack's Contest: Screwed lll
Theme: Pain of night
3/01/2015
Copyright © Nette Onclaud | Year Posted 2015
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