“Pop” Goes the Muse

Making our way through the end time;

Opening our melting wings fully against the sun;

I tried to hold on but was swept away.

Be courageous, come what may.

One spark dies, in gentle salute a wisp of smoke rises to the heavens.

Time to boister up our psyches against the onslaught of human shame.

Fear of losing ourselves in the smoke and mirrors halts our step when we should move in good faith.

Meanwhile Death comes tiptoeing nearer, the slight of hand is a slap in the face.

Welcome a breeze as the sun sets the sky on fire. Burnt wax scents lingers near the candle.

A quiet reflection holds my attention. So little chance we could heal the Mother, Earth.



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