One voice whispers.
Gathers, threading a symphony on the wind.
They blanket our world in a mist of magic.
The howling peaks.
And then, as stars in a morning sky, each one wavers–
Blinks out.
Leaves the world waiting, wanting, in silence.
The Dead of Night
More by Amalie@kua
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The Eclipse
Melts the sun
With her ferocity– stripped away,
Turned into fragility,We gasp as moon swallows sun.
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We are in a Crisis
We call it: “catastrophe,” as if — it is different.
A child nursed of negligence.
Yes, it is not ours —
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Veiled in Briar Roses
In the skeletal frame of a fence,
nestled deep in the overgrown wiring,
Where vines wind up and veins wrap down:
a ribcage, constructed by their love, nurtures love.
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