Last Spark – Day 1

Campfires spin and murmur their light—

Merciful gusts of air run short,

Fights for breath become fights for warmth;

Singular embers push through the night,

Sharp deflation of twin balloons—

Measured sinking of chest,

Whispers abound within his room;

“Quiet, there flies the Meadowlark—

Awaiting years of somberly rest,”

Chimney closed, flame goes dark.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s