tracing paper

sunset through
fading, dark rain cloud
like a blushing
thunder, like
lightning with
a warm heart of peach,
look down upon
rust covered
unsightly creatures
of dust; they
paint their uneven
faces with uneven
lies, their
souls, made of
dry tracing paper,
strike a flame
through your sky,
with their bitterness
fly, our mirthless
and unending caper.

T. E. Pyrus

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