Pride in sacrifice.
The vanilla sands of your opposite respect
Stained with blood, as each grain of sand
Amalgamated with your dead, rosy duvet.
As you fall onto your knees in no regard,
Sand spat towards the heavens in reflect
To your mercurial leave.
Apollo lifted his hands in an ark,
And the sands of his cousins were cleaned.
The beach no longer spat out grains of mercy
To the grazed knees that verged.
Poetry by John Ashleigh
Read 1065 times
Written on 2005-11-13 at 13:02
Tags Truth  History
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True Words Embellished
by John Ashleigh
In between love.
To give the stars.
One Week from Tomorrow.