Black Cloak
Shivering at the winter of the world,
damaged yet seeking
loves brave endurance,
his cold hands clutched tightly the worn,
familiar black cloak of despair,
and pulled it tighter about his wrinkled neck,
closing his wine dark eyes,
to erase the vision of her face,
his laughter roared through the terror
of playing hooky with the graveyard.
Copyright © Kathryn Sweeney | Year Posted 2018
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