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Identity I: The Dance of the Scoundrel

Author:

Hyn Edwit is a university student who writes poems and stories reflecting his inner thoughts.

In the dead of the night, the innocent

strides, clothed in white linen

carefully cascading. The breeze

echoing voices as the moon

shy away from his stare


His face scrunching, sweat evident

Trickling down from his temple

His eyes darting, panic stricken

Gaze jumping from every blossoming rose bud

With petals devoid of light


His knife stabs on beat. The ground

feels the tempo of the pitter patter

The crescendo of every stifled laugh


The innocent became the scoundrel.


Black roses in its finest form,

Adorns the scoundrel's bloodied linen

breathing his last. The moon

appeared indifferent along with

the breeze turned mute

© 2020 Hyn Edwit

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