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the sky is bleeding
the sky is bleeding,
the clouds are crimson,
raindrops fall like stain glass
towards the lull of the
shattered sea,
for peace has lost the melody
in her name—
ashy lips part,
bony hands
fold to pray—
a photograph of forgotten colors and
forgotten people
vanishes into vermillion flame.
the wind erupts with the plummeting
of planes, the plummeting of death
towards pavement where
children once played hopscotch
in the silk arms of summertime.
voices are hungry, here;
they crave the lightness of yesterday,
the content in tomorrow—
they lick memories of melted
popsicles and ice cream off
their fingers,
tasting only dust and grime.
and in the horizon where trees
once stretched to reach
the stars,
a burning sun kisses the earth,
reminding the people that
not everything is violent—
(but beyond the beauty of the
sunset, beyond the selfish warping
in the human’s eyes, the bleeding
sky weeps for a time when the air
was still
and silent)
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