The Sky Is Fire


Incinerating pinks catch on the clouds,
Reds, oranges and gold towards the center of the inferno,
Backing away and it turns to colder colors, the black of night
Hanging like smoke of a chimney, and ash is falling,
Blundering fools dance in the remains of ruins,
Oblivious to the torture of a pained morning sky,
How trivial the light of day seems to them:
Corrosive colored skies catch fire on pale skin,
Rotting, desecrating, decaying in the flames of clouds,
Spreading into the blackest parts of the skies,
Wildfire, feel the warmth coming down.

Rime covered leaves floating on the breeze,
Caught ion your breath is condensation, freezing your lungs,
Branches reaching for an ablaze sky like bony fingered hands,
Waning the life from the peace below; choking it on frost,
Those same fools creeping up from the dying ground,
Realization painted brightly as the morning sun in their eyes,
A romantic death; tragic, desperate, lifeless now,
Saddened by the fact of this process; winter to spring,
Dead to alive: God gave the sunrise eternal regeneration,
Coming day after day, but for the rest of us,
We wait for the fiery colors to fade, then we come to thaw.

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