Eos











Dark is the morning
we cannot see,
fingers search disturb

dead air;
a blind man seeks
any portal,
any blessed
ray of light.

Dawn wakes to clatter,
to boot heels and cannon,
her pale hair rent

by rockets' red fire;
Dawn wakes to shattered dreams of silence,
the sound of a swan in the distance

weeping the demise of her mate.

Dark is the mourning

we do not hope to see,

the blind man seeks

the deepest portal

reaches for even a cursed

ray of light.

(Image: Dawn, BK Levi)