Five A.M. – Lucy (of Lucy’s Works)

my own death
vineyards of moons,
a shallow depth
of the sea,

Venus sinks,
I drowned and cried
in my sleep,

died like the ocean,
born in split
like the magenta
of mother’s womb;

a vortex of nothing
fair and bony
for the ghost
of mine does not grieve

these amputations of mind;
absence of the moon’s bare-

I see the lizard limbs
of the moonrise

as I weep
like the island.

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Written for the Free Verse Revolution prompt: lamplight terrors.

As well posted for the dVerse open link night.

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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