Thursday, May 28, 2015

The sky's aflame

The sky’s aflame,
burnished with evening fire,
before ashen night
rakes the heavens
and steals the embers of colour
with its callous coldness.

Visions turn to dreams
in the unreality
of the shadow-time.
The maybes and the might-have-beens
conspire, in liquid virtualities,
 to confuse and trap
in the storm
behind closed eyelids.

The sky’s aflame,
but there’s a chill
at this crematorium.

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