A wisp of air puffs from rosy-red cheeks to help
A devious strand of hair reunite with her
Sisters; each perfectly in step with the bounce
Of plastic heels through cobblestone alleys.

Thoughts of death slosh through her veins in slow,
chaotic bursts of fire—extinguished by bags
Burnt from streaks of salt. If Icarus had known
Where his leap led, would he touch Heaven’s eye?

She no longer wished to see the Sun—
Perish from sight. Welcome Moon.
A sliver of light is all sinister work requires;
A silver partner steadying twitching nerves.

Shadowy thoughts show no outline in the darkness,
Save for a single dim glow beyond this cage.
The street lights have all, but one, gone out—
To be replaced every election cycle.

If hands had once slowed;
If tongues had once spoken freely,
Spoken true. “If’s” will catch
Hooks in our wings—never again.

A spark of light is all it takes.
To show the moon her other.
As light to dark. As life to death.
So too will we meet ours.
Fade my silver saboteur;
Allow ringing ears to simmer.

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2 thoughts on “Martyr

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