Poetry

The Grave of the Fireflies

20 February 2018

Our Autumn of Terror rings the bell,
for once, then twice, nobody
ever responds. Amateur daggers
conceal themselves in the fog,
waiting.
Hold your breath
for a ray of sunlight to take you home
again. Our breeze and weep grow crystallised
like ice, fragile yet hardened.

The rays turn vague,
passing
their burden to moonlight shade.
You moan, they fret, I roam.
Starless night accompanied by
Mermaid’s lullaby.

Out the cabin, comes fireflies’
belated greetings. Fruit candies,
marshmallow castle,
rainbow fountain.
Playful laughter’s echo,
echo, echo.

As if hypnotised by
Mesmerising melody, sleepwalking.
Out the paradise, welcomes the
Black Hole. Ravens croak,
Bats mobilise. Misconceived
Sirius soon clouded over.

Here,
everything is illusive.
Senses are no longer
reliable.

The sparks of light are
long gone. They are awaiting –
awaiting the next off-track cabin
to sink.


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