The Last Star's
clinging wish
to which it
clasps.
Time, If only
to be
more.
As each separate
dying,
ember,
trails a ghost
from on
the floor.
A single
dark crease
on
a
crisp
linen sheet.
A
naked,
crying child,
whip raised,
to be
beat.
The battlefield,
wherein lies
twisted
gore,
a field of bones.
The mangled
bodies
as
they utter
with
their dying
breath,
the
hallowed word
ALONE
YOU ARE READING
The Land of Dreams and Other Poems
PoesiePoems about everything: Dreams, the moon, love found and lost, regretful soldiers, greedy noblemen, and anything else you can think of.
