Pallid sky hangs by a thread,
Bleached, with pink smudges
That sit as crowns on the setting sun.
Silhouettes of grasping trees
Haunt the horizon
Where childhood games pleasured, now endured.
This final cremation in mourning viewed
From a fortress I'm dissolving within.
The moon mocking, a cheap imitation
Of the innocence night will stain with sin.
