Wednesday, February 17, 2016

Apologetic Spent Checks

It's a glass fire. The edge waited pompously for us to throw our ambitions over. The landing of them crackled and sparked like fresh poplar leaves. Crystalline structure failed and recomposed, flames hueing of red and purples. Assumptions had left meaningless, empty wells that the trickled-down tears had no choice but to dry up upon. They said we could be anything. The imposters lined the side-streets of bohemian decay and washed-out artistry. Openness and compassion, a dry wastegate, only rushing forth when times are bleakest and never allowing enough. They had lied. As disappointment took hold, we braced for impact. Pieces of paper described the waning, the failure, the tragedy. Soft petals now crushed into soil. Speaking scenes of gnarled, wicked metal now a burning heap. Speeds incalculable. Clouds parting. Lens flare. The clarity was too bright to withstand. Like a sullen star, all draped in flowers and backdrops, gives woe thought to the ancient spires of old. The pillars creaked with the weight of it.  As this melting sun obliterated knowledge, the raised glass from sand bludgeoned the skyline.

No comments:

Post a Comment