sorrow of the moon






thirteen winters my heart

has endured and worn me

as a frost




that cot where innocence

took it’s oblivious root has

been squabbled over by rooks




playgrounds of adult weathers

sometimes a tooth would be

lost, i curl my colours tightly




i would keep the squalls of

narrow yet fierce rain in

seldom glanced at lockets




a lifetime i would find an

entire sea collected white

as those frosts that wore me




now is entangled and fearful

creeps amongst my breath,

this stamina of pink so hidden




wolves are upon and at every

nerve ending coldly eyeing

observing the tides of blood




and which proteins make certain

buildings, a tightrope across the

wind, balancing across tigers




fifteen now and those winters

i wear well, tho’ waking is

patrolled by inch mad churches




that seed should have withered

i pursue it’s swell tho’ fathoms

it’s tiny fingerprints seek out




swastikas of democracy, courts

of gallows, seventeen men are

put to quiet




i am in a shadow’s lending

taking tears to their graveyard

depths and cellars of unseeing




witness a ribcage flattened

and skin scrubbed with shards

of glass




drink from my own sadness

whilst encouraged skinheads

wreck someone’s stance




unconcerned soldiers thrash

the heartbeats out from a fellow

of twenty, it’s love does not fit




as if this world could have

more loss to drown with,

entire mountains are under




the song of being crouched

and unannounced is being

sought by butchers




“let your music spill red

that rivers are choked”

and when all dna




has been accounted for

burn down this certain

history of obscenity holes




autumns, fifty one of dying

beautifully broken, see the

pitch of the world’s dark




but wonder cannot be

ceased or the patterns

of colour seized




tho’ fervour ferments

religion misguided by

demons




we shall succeed and

prevail the inhumane

balance




a resistance against

the devil worn attrition,

against the horizon’s




judgemental skulls



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