Midnight

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Midnight

Midnight sulked in its chamber, watching the witchlights

Out on the bay, strands of  unborn thoughts
Flaring and dying as we all do.
He saw a comet some days before
The arc of it scored the sky; as if it remembered
Something he regretted, green as velvet
Soaked in oak moss, sullen as silver
Chrism of this earth.

If this is living, how is it so easy
To scry the other world?
Wrapped in laurel
Soaked in myrrh
Bitter as oud.

I sniff at the colours
Flowering mercilessly.

My hands clasp brushes, pens
It is a good embrace.

Veronica Aldous all rights reserved 2016

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About Veronica Aldous

Writer and artist, Veronica is a lecturer is Fine Art and Creative Writing. Her first book of poems, 'Moon Cinema' is now available on Lulu.com. Now there is also 'Mortal' her second book.
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