Vengeance Through A Parlor Window Poem by David Nelson Bradsher

The dust of day's detritus grays the room
as if the ashes of Pompeii
have blurred the atmosphere and smudged the gloom,
grinding the light away.

The morning, though, like tractor beams,
will pull the corners of the night
to smooth the angles of the shadow-seams
that split, allowing light

to permeate the dull of nothingness
with something brighter, and complete:
a sword of sharper color to address
a previous defeat.