PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Natural brides, you have no last song.
Sad distance kept grounded by a present tide
formed as the shade is
still bites in otherworldly glitter,
impressive Queens of an outer manor.
Black is rare in this spectrum.

Deep enough to hope the beholders eye 
finds rougher diamonds worth the cut
set in splendor, transformatively, painfully,
a loving envy immortal in a tuneless chirp.
Imagine your own, I’d say, a harp,
the angels scream for a storming touch

we flock again past inflections of night
and dying stars millennia away