Ghost Sentinel

The silhouette black, a contrast to the white
Which luminesses, reaching almost blue…
or purple…
or green.

Ripples of soft grey, shadows that a low swept sun awakes
Even in sleep it has been an eternity
And the wind bites with a thousand icy shards

Posted: Friday, November 13th, 2020 @ 8:39 am
Categories: Poems, The Sight.
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