This is the end

Chimes of the copper striking steel
at twelve midnight
moonshine lamps the room
starlit sky sets the frequency of heart

I dip the quill in the pot, and stroke it the cotton
touching it’s fabric thread by thread
the ink rolled it’s street
shades of violet, turned blue and faded
the rhymes crooked and sweet

Pouring whisky into glass
neat no crass
swivels the head deep into oceans
high into the sky

Flicker’s of fire orange and yellow
paint in my skin, flow in my brush
into lines from sets of Iliad and Odyssey
It set’s the stagnant me racing across trees

It’s the smell of jasmine my poetry
it raises my hair even in fall
but the death of the spring is here for me
I beg you to, not stop my fall

 

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