In the Quiet Dark

A Reflection

The sun has turned its back, the moon hangs adrift in swirling sky. A rash of words, unspoken, taste the night and fly.

The murmurs of a lover, the chuckle of a friend, all of these come easily on a day long past its end. 

A rude guffaw, a raspy hiss, cuts through what once seemed fair. Unabated, unforgiven, dirty laundry out to air.

Tear tracks cut out roadways, grins stretch from pier to pier, labors of a quiet dark, sacrosanct from fear.

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In the Quiet Dark
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