"The Sky Is Dust" A Poem by V.G. Grace

My red eyes are on fire and so is the sky;
 

choking me with ash
 

and burning me with regret.

 

The sky is not dead yet,
 

but neither am I.
 

It goes without saying
 

the moon has made little impression on me, 

having bided its time
 

and shown unremarkable light.

 

Rarely any stars,
 

nor cool winds on my face.
 

Relentless heat
 

dries my throat to parchment
 

and makes me thirsty for waters of release.

 

The sky's ash floats towards me,
 

steadily making its way
 

to enter my mouth
 

and cover my heart.

 

I cover my face with dying leaves,
 

and try to remember my springtime
 

before the fire
 

and its flames.

 

It's hard to remember a time before this,
 

so I slip away
 

from my memories as a ghost.

 

I meet with my understanding
 

which slowly drips out of me,
 

like warm blood;

 

steaming
 

into mist
 

and mingling with dust.