By Christos Floratos
After a day or two, it will be gone.
Catch it by the collar while you still can,
or it will wag it’s tail never ending at the thought…
The walk that will last forever.
We march on-
So far that you may choose to rest on a bench
-gaze at the incoming storm from the fire afore.
Volcanic ash permits the thunderstorm.
Remember that smile as
The lightening damsels in the cloud
Closing and closing in. It branches
-All reacting more of the same-
But as dreadful as ash in winter
Stand here watching, so it won’t be much of a shock.
Smile, for the road behind was worth it.
Gleam for your childhood and
be joyful for your sins.
They have no matter now
as the trees are shaken down
to the core, the root, the soil.
From green to blue,
as white as ash.
All colours matter to the sound of grief.
Silence is your virtue in the open as you
cower from the storm.
Still, you have marched all this way.
Enjoy the rolling thunder that rocks the dirt.
Aren’t you thankful for what summers brought?
This lighting circling you, appreciate the sky’s glamour!
Why, any other response would kill a god! Maybe two.
You’ve marched away from the fire,
Ordained in blacken char carpets are preachers, pillars and podiums.
For a life that once was.
A grotto that wasn’t just dust.
Ode to a memory of pollen filled forests.
© Christos Floratos 2019