Bright lights puncture holes
In the velvet-blue night sky
Crowds cheer for thunder
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Drama
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As the sun shone its
Last rays across the landscape
Moonlight touched his blade
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Pointing a waxen
Finger, the sickly witch watched
The figure crumble
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Pressure her spirit
Sunk, no more the sunlight shone
The light had gone out
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Blue
Sitting on the dock
She watched the gulls fly homeward
Sea air filled her lungs
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A chill washed over
Her like a crushing wave, she
Was dangerous now
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This hard day spent cruel-
ly under his greasy thumb
Was the last of it
Before the altar
He knelt, knowing he would rise
Once more at his death
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His eyes filled with grit
Her throat coated with hot sands
Their worlds were vanquished
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Things aren’t going according to plan
But, truly, how can we control what does?
The fates would appear to have an unfair advantage,
Leading our protagonist by a string
Or is it a hangman’s rope?
