Poem "Fire smog"

 

There’s beauty in going blind,

a fever of passion, a hushed delight,

a dinner stare, a touch of fright,

to dance with stars until they die,

to fall asleep inside their light,

and never leave their side.

For none may become

the Endless without will,

A corpse of chills,

Rotting in woods.

Oh, cruel beloved of blight,

seek thy vision elsewhere,

For here, we are lost,

Humans on dry land.

Leave us the night,

where bodies collide,

where silence breaks free,

and what we are dissolves

Into screams of agony.