Scenes of Fire
The sinner’s candle sears the breath
Of the drunken one-eyed angel.
Every flame is perfect in its chaos.
The jilted partisan with unkempt hair
Is no friend to the vengeful torch,
The wind will not be burdened by his ashes.
Grieving minstrels dance to murmured chants
On a stage built by a guild of arsons
As hungry skeletons combust in dusty folios.
The lonely cleric on his rusty bicycle waits
For a sunset that will never happen.
(C) Eric Walter 2015