A/N: Written for the Title Set Boot Camp, #003 – Crimson Skies.
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A Larger Poetry Collection
64. Crimson Skies
the sky bled with the souls that reached out to touch it that day;
those souls that left the earth, their ties to it cut loose before that ball
of yarn unravelled with its time.
it is premature; the small pieces of yarn that are left behind in the wind
that collect like bad memories and are caught on the tips of thorns
whose tender sharps prick but fail to cut the threads through and send them on
so they linger, like echoes, in the never-tiring wind
watching as the as the sky dripped dry and resumed its grey
once more.