They’re hanging like spangled banner

draped over the night black globe.

Pin pricks in the blackness.

But no red blood flowing.

Silver spangles oozing 

gleaming white light.

The red will follow soon enough as

the sun plots its rise to power.

As it schemes to flood the black,

obliterate the white,

drown them both,

blind them in it’s 

golden glow and

blood red heat.



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