Three lines meet and a corner is formed,
a shadow catching spirit,
dancing in the blades of the twilight fan
with a golden scalp reflecting last nights tragedy.
I pull on the beaded strings
to shed some light in the dusty room,
but I leave the light off because I saw the vicious blue rainbow,
a halo formed reminding early risers there is still beauty here,
there is still a hope unsaid in "waiting phrases",
spoken in hidden agendas of "once"...
"once this is over"...
