Aiming for a creative life

I Am Santo

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The sun gives warning before it brings night, the ugly dark preceded by firelight bathing the last minutes of day in Hellstorm hues that mirror the flush of this rage. And so this black descends. How fucking tired, your type. How gracious that you’ve been offered comparison to fleeting moments of day. Even if nature’s palette spills this same masterpiece so often that specifics are easily forgotten, much the way you will be, you earned at least a line of dialogue in this motion picture; a walk-on role that’s far more than an anonymous ill-educated hack should be awarded. Maybe the whole film is a farce, and you’re the voice of an audience that’s suffered enough, a tiny ember of the fire that burned brighter than your paltry intellect seemed it could before succumbing to a cold end; stumbling onto a larger truth and barely coherent enough to fuel notice. It’s richly undeserved, your fleeting spark. And if you stand with others, may the mob incinerate quickly in the crematorium of your adolescent jealousy. And may your ashes be cast to the sea, you all forgotten but still the gesture of your dismissal a fleeting muscle memory, a waste of temper and words that leaves scars far deeper than any pathetic attempt at cutting your frail mind could muster. Such big words you use, little boy! How the heavy shackles of your own wretched decisions look so perfect on a monarch that cares nothing for your plight, but will admonish your disrespect with stern warning before lopping off your head. May this be a lesson to your common dimness; this dark will bury you alive. Don’t waste what little air you’ve left shouting blame. The sun isn’t returning for you.

#poetry #poet #writing #writer #creativewriting #literary_imagery1 #poetry_addicts #poem #sun #sunset #dusk #sky #clouds #storm #cloudporn #rage #anger #daysend #trees (at Ember)

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