The moon, bright yet idle
clings to the dark horizon
Stretching its reflection
towards the waking beach
the debt of blood, paid
Santa Carla settles
eyes of vermilion close
Michael's last tear of starvation
falls upon a grave of sand
A frail tomb that melts
as the tide gathers pace
Mortal bones and the aging gene
drown in the metaphor
He must quote holy water
scripture that damns the Lost Boys
© Copyright 2016 Philip H20s. All rights reserved.
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