Burning Sky

A single tree, laid bare in the winter air
Stands like an old soldier who refuses to leave his post

Winter is not here to stay,
The white snow, pure as the feather of the dove loses what it once held dear
Blackened and corrupted by a six month campaign,
The crow proclaims his dominion over the melting shell of winter's hulking beast
Picking at its eyes, scratching his feet upon
The mouse infested carrion

Hovering above, majestic clouds survey
A fleeting kingdom, drifting farther and farther away
As Persephone makes her return to the surface world

Dust rises up from the roadside, disgruntled spirits wish to carry on
With their nocturnal mission
Piercing eyes, their hollow forms
Bring the storm
Swirling back and forth,
Shrieking, howling, proclaiming their earthly damnation of the byways,
The abandoned, dried arteries of roads snaking through the piecemeal countryside
The dust moves about, before settling
Itself in the icy cradle

the clouds are lit with the chaotic beauty of bright pink, dark red,
deep orange
Seeping deep into the boundless heavens
Trickling down into the dark blue of evening,
The depthless black of darkness

The colors run,
Dripping meticulously across the dark page mixing as the Doorway of the Dreaming opens
Fading rays stretch across the mottled, patchwork gray of the field

Winter's tattered banner, his emblem torn
waves lazily in the breeze
His vice-like grip loosens
As shadows race across the snow

My eyes close and open,
As blurred reality
             
                           R
                             u
                                s
                                    h
                                        e
                                            s

past me

as if torn from a dream, the tiny figure of  Winter on the horizon
vanishes with the light
and burning sky