A sky the colour
of death exploded,
Cracked by the
pressure of its children’s tears;
Originated in
the orphaned light
That fled when
sediment of shadow wore
Away the face
that guided safe their trial;
Betrayed beneath
a moon whose half-hid face
Shall curse the
sun and then usurp his throne.
A monument of
madness, fire-razed, rests
Beside the wasted
ruin of their home.
Where those who
walked tip-toed to touch the sky
Would weep that
without sound how could they know
That in the wind
their answer might be found;
Apocalyptic questions
they were asked,
And failed to
see a future come to pass.
So there sits
the ever-unrising sun
Upon the calloused
hand of he that holds
The season’s
turn within a stringent grasp,
To roll no more
across the sea of sky
Whose waves have
tossed its splintered hull aside;
Have sold as
slaves dawn’s subjects to the night,
And drowned them
in a promise of rebirth.
Among the century
of hands that crease
The folds of
time, are passed along the days
Collected when
the dust alights upon
The holy trinity
of ages past -
A sky the colour
of death exploding
Over monuments
of madness fire-razed,
Felled beside
the ever-unrising sun.
