the day morphs into
a hearth of embers
old bones ignite
where have the fairies of comfort gone?
twilight bleeds crimson
and the night is burnt to ashes
the sooty moon lingers
beneath a shroud of sombre clouds
my fractured pen rises from the rubble
as I rummage through the pockets
of my mind to conjure words.
You see, there’s a dead poem
I need to bring to life
and revive its heart...