Black robed, his cry in the wilderness –
The religion of it, it’s a killing room, filled with the lovers long forgotten, their spent flesh a repast for our feast, _ we honour them in our atonement, this, our wars of the roses.

From the middle distance, we moved towards His Light.


(50 words) 280 characters  for Twittering Tales #139

©Backpocket Poems – Wildchild47

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