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Poem: Where the White Whale falls

The quickening mist breaks like waves
under the lucent light that was the moon.
A desperate exhalation,
the dying dreadnaught of the sky.

The sword that split its skin
jewelled red on metal –
an open wound still steaming
a thousand lost souls skywards.

The being broken, fractured in three,
a trinity crowned purple
and bared naked as a bruise.
From the dark its death vector

on the scent of the jealous witch,
and where the white whale falls
no one comes to weep.

About Dominic (129 Articles)
Journalist, blogger and father. Usually found in a Star Wars or anime tee-shirt. Obsessions include epic fantasy and model spaceships.

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