In these minutes past the hour
of the darkest time of the night,
my soul is weeping
for the dreams discarded,
carelessly flung into the flaming sunset
of a shattered reflection.
And my soul is bleeding
for the trust betrayed,
sullied by the kisses at New Year's turn,
from the one with the poisoned tongue.
every friday, compose a short story of 55 words - no more, no less. if you want to join in the fun and games and give it a try...post your story and report to the boss G-Man