Ever Higher

Fireflies flit
Around the beckoning flames
Like paper lanterns,
Shimmery and gold,
Floating towards the sun.
You hum a labored tune
Deep in your weary chest.
The air is crisp,
Your fingers numb.
Your voice fails.
Your head falls
While the scorched logs
Hiss, and the smoke
Rises ever higher.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: