lonely poetry of night – Short Prose Fiction

trees whisper, cries of cloudy skies
inaudible, unseen,
you, Astraea,
you push me on a long-forgotten trail
the ocean, poisoned, green, unsettled
warm tongues, ecstasies of memories un-lived
defiled the innocence of maiden-stars
tears, corridors of sand
you, universe that dreamt us all
the pain of suffocated myths that die
kisses, floating sanctuaries
Astraea,
you who don’t know desire
burn the nihilism of flesh
the plight
of souls sold for two pennies in slave markets
inside the lonely poetry of night

published in Indian Periodical on January 23, 2019

@short-prose-fiction

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image: pixabay

Published by grumpygorman

I am a Social Worker by day and an artist/writer by night. I use the written word in an attempt to make sense of the secret worlds and dysfunctional dynamics that lurk beneath the facades of our daily interactions. I am not sure how my writing styles are characterized, nor am I overly concerned about it. I am immensely enthusiastic about music and often connect better with songs than I do people. I also have an intense appreciation for quality wines and whiskies, frequently consuming them in excess. I like things that smell good and struggle to manage the symptoms of a life-long relationship with depression. So, why "grumpygorman"? Spend some time here and find out...

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