David Kowalczyk - Apocalypse Moon

2014-11-07 1

The wind becomes a knife,
cutting the edges of your eyes.


Begonias die slowly
on the scorched windowsill.


Shards of ash flutter
like moths through the faded light,
gentle settle on burnt blossoms.

David Kowalczyk

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/apocalypse-moon/

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