Thursday, June 20, 2024

Beacons of Oppression

No more past and frozen
Broken dollars on the costume’s edge
No riddle to be stolen
Or hid between her parked legs
There are ships on the balcony
Solid in perpetuated demise
Sold for grass curtains and parted
Along the stringed astray reprise
Formed almost like a whisper
Grey and atoned for
In the night of vespers
Where no one speaks the stars