blinded by the ghost of an isthmus,

dark eyes fed upon

your laugh

like a poison 

to surge, the chill 

when you look at me;

the dust of the horizon

shapes cruelty.

Reaped in the quiet

like a violent beast

as solitude precedes

covering the ashes

blistering on the pale shore

this void of pure;

an absence that lies

across the pond,

a path of icy wind

and torrents

of tortured specters 

in the sense of it

shivering upon flesh,

leaving traces and memories

mourning in the distance

dead full of sand,

flowers folding over in 

the chaste of frost

furiously afraid,

pressing in subtleties 

that still quiet

won’t die

from memory.

© 2020 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved.

8 thoughts on “Tyranny.”

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