The Killing Season is Over

As if instinctive, retreats
in blue, submerged,
the unlucky. Soon lifeless.

Then, red night; the inside
of a devil's veil. Cold arrests
resistance. Accepts an end

to violence, a shift,
dismounting of the rider
from the wreckage.

1 comment:

Defyinghumanity said...

I love your emotion in these poems.