the wild night of doom
descends through our bloodlines
as seas roil and lands break and sink and rise
and swirl on the plates of their bearings
and the blazing scarlet skies are just
the reflections of souls on fire
and ruins fall back
into the ground of their making
and I who wanted a ringside seat
to watch the fall of my enemies (how pitiful like them I am!)
plunge with the crowds into what sinkhole
swallow an eon of our misdirected living...
oh see you (maybe) in the shingles of dawn's beach
nourishing other forms in the light of the mild morning of bloom...
Content (c) 2008-2013 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
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