Light shone bright, dependent, denying darkness place,

holding hands with morning, laughing in night’s face,

as if the moment gathered, dawn’s skirts in feathered grace;

so did my mind start sorting, which dreams it would erase.

In distant, echoed laughter, old beliefs were holding court,

repairing ravaged faces, plucks out black hairs of thought,

as grimaced teeth were baring, in warnings darkly fraught;

the harridan of hope bedecked, in bitter dreams, distraught.

Mould of mind as perfume damply black did slowly drift,

creeping onto brightened edges, mourning’s  fresh, cruel gift,

declaring Death had claimed the day, raised glass did surely lift;

so was  past then cast aside, and memory so dismissed.

About rosross

Editor, writer, poet.
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