Literary Yard

Search for meaning

By: Gareth C


The moon had cooked up
a stew of cloud, but blamed the sea.

Serving it to the mountains
that sat in their own height.

We were hit first
as rain sizzled on the tents skin.

I watched the lip of the days
light lower into a well behind a hill.

Our lives left to drown
left to boil and brew into the night.

The fake moon kissed
some of the sun back to us.

But I knew it didn’t care
upset at being nailed to the sky wall

All it’s life.


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