Half Mast

an empty-handed gorgeous day,
with a calming gentle breeze.
and such a gentle breeze it is,
to create a piercing flutter.
one that floats above the
classic mold
of black
that cranks the auto flow of
ventricles
to skip a beat.
a wrench into the gears of memory.

though half in height
it’s double in subject.
this craft of ending
stretches in the breeze,
attempting to flee its moor.
but it can only
flutter.
piercing.
tears are born here.

-B.W. Gladney

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2 thoughts on “Half Mast

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