A poem
Darkness descends
like a shroud of smoke
extinguishing the last lingering light,
as a liquid moon
pools in a black sky,
polishing up the stars
against the dark canvas.
With spiralling rippling fingers of energy,
the blue-white fire of icy points
burn in an ebony drape
caressed by an unapologetic hand.
Sensing the night’s aurora,
the ghosts of my past
scorch my remains.