by Patricia Williams
Look from the mountain top,
gaze east
at the blush in the sky
glowing brilliant,
color unmatched.
Look closely.
Tongues of red
reaching into the blue
― rawness, inflammation ―
no gloried, climbing sun
on the horizon.
The East is burning,
burning, burning ―
gnashing terrible teeth,
rolling terrible eyes;
When November passes
and everything fades,
there’s always
hope in afterlife.
What a timely poem!
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