I watched the lunar eclipse through a piece of broken bottle

I found a rich blue kite amidst some faded cranberry fields

I strung some cotton from some discoloured golden wheat strands

I wished upon a cumulus as it approached the dormer window

 

Yet the eclipse stings me, a piercing needle

The kite’s cord snapped, was it intentional or was the line feeble?

The cotton couldn’t be woven into cloth, a broken treadle

And as the cumulus flied away it got tangled into some evil

 

What was that evil…

 

Was it a curse repercuss of an oldly sage?

Was it a thousand nightmares locked up into a steel cage?

Macbeth, it was the rise of the dreaded: nature’s rage

 

And yet you laugh, what could be harmful if it is natural?

 

Why?

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