Shades of the descending Sun,

wave this day goodbye.

A day on which my rig

bored for new blood;

inside my heart.

What once cluttered

flows more freely.

On the listening aid

of stillness,

the Sun turns red.

I lay myself to rest,

as the spirits in me

await the dark of starry skies.

Vince

7–31–2016

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.