Oculus

Circling this holy tomb,
We sharpen our spears.
The rising blood moon,
Is destined to appear.

The night is stretched,
Across these shadows.
Demons so wretched,
Stoke rage with bellows.

The hole you’re left with,
Engraved upon the heart.
Is the window; too stiff,
To let life take a start.

Tear the curtains apart,
Smash the window panes.
Mend your bloody heart,
Hold on till you’re sane.

-Nameera.

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