poetry by j matthew waters

black hole sun

the enemy is always within
even in a house built on dreams
seemingly immune to bad news
never teetering on the edge

the enemy awakens out of thin air
like a ghost in the dark
nowhere to hide and nobody to haunt

the enemy is merely a reflection
of something long ago promising
where over the course of time
fades by way of a dying sun

may two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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