The Dying Moon

The sky had just shed its darkness The morning breeze still added chill onto the sand dunes that dominated their yellow territory as far as one could see. There was no intruder in the land of sands to marvel at this part-time creation of nature. The only living thing that breathed in that immense silence was a little green cactus. It still had few yellow flowers that seemed to be afraid of its now unnecessary thorns. Those small beauties fixed their innocent gaze on the dying moon as if to complain, “You promised that you wouldn’t go to work today!”

“Promisee”

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The moment I do myself proud 

The next I feel crest-fallen.  

Thrice did I rake over old coals 

And found hurt many a pretty souls.  

It kills me apart …as those achy breaky hearts 

To whom my words were arrows and darts. 

I repent I perpetrated many atrocities 

Until the hell freezes over I’ll murder no promisee.