Poetry from a whole other century ;)


Radiant from a remote territory.

Fatal to touch, risk to stare.

The blazing ball of fire turns rudy and descends,

crouching under enhanced horizon to cast residual glow

from pitch cosmos distance.

The floating night-light rises

casting a sphere of soft reflection

borrowed from obscured sky-firelight;

man’s most reflective fascination.

A conglomeration of diamonds depict an illusion

the sky is full, flourishing, thriving and twinkling

by the fire’s infinite glow.

In twenty four hours this wonder occurs,

long before mankind was here.

How does anyone know for sure

when the end of our world is near?

Again the fire dances to the song of a new day.

The floating night-light pales.

Is there a message to convey?

This infinite turning from night to day forever,

for who and what?

A question our high tech can’t answer:

In control are we… or not?

© L. P. Penner, 1995


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