Wings of Fire
Right before the close it stops,
right when the sun sets the chaos stops;
the churning wheel, dusk infused within hot veins,
a lightning stream piercing through paper-thin walls,
bars knitted as lightly as dust, a wan thread.
Hot horizon coursing, pulsing within veins now free,
she climbs the sky, wings afire with the power
to live again in ashes run cold, she flies
higher to burn, a raining desire, she cries her name.
Pain ascends as her flame shoots and dies
slowly falling toward Earth's skin, a wilted flower;
now ashes strewn, a silence ensues as winds blow,
a fire lights and new life screams forth, the embers aglow.
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