Fire in the Sky

July 27, 2010
By ejp04 SILVER, Mesa, Arizona
ejp04 SILVER, Mesa, Arizona
6 articles 0 photos 7 comments

Favorite Quote:
We don't read and write poetry because it's cute.
We read and write poetry because we are members
of the human race. And the human race is filled with
passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering,
these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life.
But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we
stay alive for. To quote from Whitman, "O me! O life!...
of the questions of these recurring; of the endless trains
of the faithless... of cities filled with the foolish; what good
amid these, O me, O life?" Answer. That you are here - that
life exists, and identity; that the powerful play goes on and
you may contribute a verse. That the powerful play *goes on*
and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?

-Dead Poets Society
1989


When plumes of sulfur did swirl about
Upon such desolate land, a horn did cry out
A journey to the graveyard; we all knew that sound
Truth among the lies, scattered on the ground
And when angels and demons had all but fallen; courage all but dry
One soldier looked up from the battlefield,
And thought him to be fire in the sky

When trumpets of blood erupted in the everywhere
And carpets of steal had laid well their deadly snare
Beasts of light and dark did passionlessly devoir
All to be seen remaining of that final hour
And when angels and demons had all but fallen; hope all but dry
A woman looked up from the battlefield,
And knew him to be fire in the sky

When crackling lightning, so ruby with hate
Conducted through the air the symphony of fate
A thread about to tear, an impending doom
Such is life’s blemished, never constant loom
And when angels and demons had all but fallen; war lust all but dry
With his dying breath, a man looked up
And thought Death to be fire in the sky

When twisting blue took flight and conquered the sky
And two being one was naught but a lie
With not knowing who to be friend or foe
All would be lost; upon such unsentimental plateau
And when angels and demons had all but fallen; music all but dry
He looked up to the haze infested horizon
And there he was, crimson fire in an ink sky

When ashes and blood had already been cast
Both mourning and life seemed to be somewhat surpassed
Then, a fleeting ghost, like a long forgotten dream
Pain entered the vision as a twisted new theme
And when angels and demons had all but fallen; spirits all but dry
I looked up from the discarded mask
And disbelieved it to be a lie

With death staining the page . . . something irrevocable to defy
Yet stand you there
So Phantom without a cry
And so black commenced
There was no fire in my sky


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