A blood moon,
a fluorescent night,
a straight road,
a tree at the end;

A hanging tree,
a low hanging noose,
a midnight wanderer,

A shallow breeze,
some bobbing clouds,
the noose sways,
as she meets my gaze;

The lonely crow,
on a withered branch,
in the red-moon rays;

An old friend,
to accompany me,
under the noose,
in this hanging tree;

We wait for dawn,
reminisce along,
and pass our time,
till the first rays of sunshine;

And then we Fly.
Fly away.
In to the day.

By: Viraj Belgaonkar

Pen it... or aaa type it. u know what i mean.

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