Saturday, November 3, 2012

Morning mourns...

The sweet pain of acceptance.

A full moon night folds up
in smoky curls.
Wisps of blush spreads over -
the naked canvass of the dark sky.

Mist camouflages the tears -
sharp and stinging that well up
each time the sky expels
a new morning.

The pang of child birth -
clenching muscles,
serial, violent rejection
of own's own flesh -

A new day is born.

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