Monday, 11 October 2010

What will be, will dream

My blood evacuates
sliding through the pores of my skin, red pearls
the atoms inside spun out, glittering,
to kiss pure darkness, to taste light
after the cornucopia had crescendo-ed in the western corner
and hedonist hawks* flew  into the sun
packs of she wolves convened under the moon
sung of solace so superb
echoed across my mauve dreamscape
Queen Lunar turned her face
but not her back
blew out  the stars, so my sleep walk
would be unhindered by the spikes of their sparkles
no diamond points to prick my feet
to bleed my mark on destiny pre-named
Zena Edwards© 
* somebody who favours the use of military force in the implementing of foreign policy rather than diplomatic solutions

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