The sun's rose of petals pure orange in glow

The dawn cracked and broke into thousands
of eggshell seconds

Leaking light spewing around corners of deviant darkness

Wisps of moisture twisted in agony as sunshine pierced their hearts as if Dracula devoured

The quick of eye penetrated the shadows of desperation as fleeing phantons fled

The wax of their ways melted leaving feathers of wing spiraling down

The blood of quills spilled upon the newspaper whose headlines shouted ,
"Poetry Is Dead !"