change the morning after


I had to write this poem today

In Aprils chill before it turns to May


spring rain echoes My latest winters

while my shadow conceals and nearly splinters


two nights have passed since the last blood moon

fragile nights that all waned too soon


the twine of memories all too quiet now My mind has been banished

this composition trembles and my fingers have long since vanished


as if the night could change the morning after

yet, still I hear the hum of some nebulous and solicitous laughter

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