What The Thunder Said, Vol 4 | Page 14

Sunrise light-beams christen day

Alight upon vague motes of dust

That glitter gold and quartz and rust

And flash and gleam beneath the gray

Of morning’s every soothing gust

...

She grew tired of fire

Of burning lights

She flew up with her

Crooked wings

She found the gate

Iron-clad locked

“Who has the key?”

She asked all the angels;

Laughter

Shook the walls

She screamed

All the way down as

She fell

...