Blood Moon - Poem by Andy Brookes
I am surprisingly suppressed.
Advise from ill conceived corners.
The well wishers, who wish you well.
Corrosive carpetbaggers who look with myopic eye
And see no further than the wall of their ignorance.
Who fain innocence whilst
Sharpening their blades, which cut and shred.
A blood moon is about to rise, and I bleed red ink.
I fall, like Icarus, burned.
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