There is a fire
It lights up the sky and
blackens my eyes
The clouds are tinted this glorious shade
Of redorangeviolet
And I can feel the flames licking at my heels.
I feel that this is a metaphor for something great
But all I can think is that
The sky is beautiful
And the world is going to burn.
YOU ARE READING
Incipient
PoetryIN•CIP•I•ENT inˈsipēənt/ adjective •in an initial stage; beginning to happen or develop. •(of a person) developing into a specified type or role.
