Fresh wounded sky,
It's dying caught for all to see,
Bright pierced by,
The spears of a treacherous sun,
Whilst through it's torture,
I the watcher mourn,
With eyes that burn,
From tears and light,
Lost in the beauty,
Speechless and serene,
As I stand alone here,
On the edge of night.
Bitter sentences,
Their bile soaked syllables,
Forged in hate,
Tempered in bitterness,
And sharpened on your lies,
To cut deep;
Wounds that never close.