Prompt:Climax
for
the_quillsWC 202
The skies are filled with miracles
and half of those are blatant lies
of all the moribund monarchies
your heart constructed in the fog
of might have beens and loneliness
of all the escapist escapades
you sent your words out on
as though you were Noah set
adrift on an ocean of Reality
There are shades and there are shadows
each attempting to unravel the
darker lines of heart's desire
Listen, she moves through the soft fog,
taking the dark lines and wrapping them
around her like gentle bruises or reminders
of flesh touching flesh until
The skies are filled with miracles.