Poem: Where the White Whale falls

The quickening mist breaks like waves

under the lucent light that was the moon.

A desperate exhalation,

the dying dreadnaught of the sky.


The sword that split its skin

jewelled red on metal –

an open wound still steaming

a thousand lost souls skywards.


The being broken, fractured in three,

a trinity crowned purple

and bared naked like a bruise.

From the dark its death vector


on the scent of the jealous witch,

and where the white whale falls

no one comes to weep.

About Dominic (90 Articles)
Journalist, author and Star Wars fan.

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