They always create
climes to inoculate.
Must we smile upon days
when the love of blood sways?
Lights make this night
clear as an empty page.
Damp wind darkens
hair like heavenly ink.
Heads heavy, with bliss and ink,
on this path to certain light.
Our stellar home outshines heaven.
Though the poor bleed dark rivers far away,
We are merry in our own way.
By grace of the coming day
may our blood not spill but allay.
2 comments:
happy new year!
I find myself in two distinct poems and spaces. The first half philosophising of war, predatory natures, and endless bleeding.
... The second poem (fourth through sixth stanzas) I am languid and comfy, cheered by your smacking on delightful tidbits of your good fortune.
... I'm thinking this is what I find myself troubling over in many writes. The choppy merging of two complete works. Why so? Each one is whole and enough. You, like your poetry, are enough. Let us spend the time with each piece without distraction please.
... I so love keeping company with you here once again. Bey
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