Regret can end up in your head, in the very back, and can haunt you years later. - 07 November 2005


Incense of humanity,
Peril on the burnt grass.

Sharp white swans continued to swim,
Unaware of the danger.

Scales of society,
Closing one eye in concentration.

Only one swan continued to wade,
Across the moon lit lake.

The blood crept up past the maize of
Stones and hedges, seeping through gaps
And diverted the hand that lay tranquil.

The finger nails grew into purple
And divine trees spouted over the corpse
That ceased bleeding years before.

Poetry by John Ashleigh
Read 1028 times
Written on 2005-11-07 at 12:11

Tags Regret  Dark  Cold 

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