Poetry

Blood Moon

“That night
was alive,
yet, at the
same time,
still, an eerie
silence
that clung
to me like
a second skin.”

That night was alive, yet, at the same time, still, an eerie silence that clung to me like a second skin. Smog hung low in the air, backlit by orange lights glowing into the night, that tinged the moon with blood.

© Sarah Doughty

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22 thoughts on “Blood Moon”

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