
Penumbra
The night is full of its own.
The night creeps. Sleeps.
The night is colour blind.
It’s transfixed like a piece of wood.
It’s an echo. It dreams.
It’s death. Birth. It’s a blur.
The night is for promises.
The night sips sacred nectar.
The night is its own penumbra.
Written for Miz Quickly’s 12 August Repetition & Change prompt. Shared with @Miz_Quickly and @Experimentsinfc #APoemADay on Twitter ©Misky 2021. Image is from Unsplash.
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