Image credit: freewallpapersupport.blogspot.com
These streets beyond are narrow, dark
Their lights wink with a dying grace
Within the perimeter of the park
They come to find the killing place
Their hooded garb and blackened cloaks
Hide centuries of deep regret
You hear the music, see the smoke
The blood-red loss you can’t forget
Yet none may speak the reason why
The ritual repeats once more
And any drivers passing by
Forget what they came looking for
The moon is hung with ancient shame
By morning light there is no trace
Of practices too dark to name
They found within the killing place
(c) Helen Valentina 2014, All Rights Reserved
With all the light illuminating in this photo you wrote a dark tale of a poem. Very nice.
Thank you! 🙂
Brilliant, to me this one speaks of secrets hidden in plain sight, no one dares look too closely
Exactly!! Thanks so much!! 🙂 🙂
Deliciously dark!
Thank you!! 🙂 🙂
Very nice, Sis!!! 🙂
Thank you!! 🙂
Makes me remember why we are afraid of the dark.
Thank you!! 🙂 🙂