poetry

Jewels

we are jewels in the crown of midnight,
dark obsidian tears, made of moonlight and blood
rippling on sorrows’ surface, disturbing the night’s slumber

we are torn skin of the faint young sun,
black fires burning on the forgotten hills, children of the opalescent haze and moondust
touching the mortality with madness; ruling over abandoned circles and shadowed mazes

we are the last kiss from the goddess,
blinding the nature with our brilliance, coating its heart with a stellar honey

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Forest is where I belong. My gods live there.