Poetry

Didn't agree to
sell the dream, for afterlife.
There was dread of
crossing the graves.

Moon intends to
come one step closer, to
find your candor. The innards
wouldn't take off the veil.

There was no iconic
shadow. Hope was fading.
Time to confront the unexpected
assault. Light enters from a crack.

What could be a
second coming of realization
on week legs, in twilight
of disturbing truths?

I am holding the mirror
at a distance.