Too late the sun has set
For lowered eyes have noticed
How less the horizon flows gently
Capturing the image of the night
In the eyes of the unborn
And the hearts of space
Twinge at the sight of reflections
Water crystals spray petals
Of pillowcases and comforters
Billowing wind turns tables
Stooping low the branches
That scrape at your concious
This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.
jaaaws_17
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