The Dread of Holymen
A late night howl
cuts the moon in half
the stars hide deep
within nights' breast..
A fraying of sanity
in the coming days
oh... the salted irony
of a newborn grave
A crush of blue blasts in
as gilded thoughts flee
spring nests cave in
to the icy throat of elegy
All have an invitation
to the rabbit hole lounge
where hearts impale upon
the face of 90 proof clowns
A test of faith-the holymen say
but even they'll dread their final day
Copyright © Anthony Biaanco | Year Posted 2021
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