what’s left inside
is the burning desire
to see the world

in flames

light fades with the sun
horrid hues harboring a secret
—a crimson warning—
slowly stripping away the gasp of day
held in the breath of a moored moon
—a meaningless mockery—
masquerading as a meager spare
scant light echoing a life long lost
—a feeble blessing—

but hope does not stay long on the horizon

“I am what you would call, in colloquial terms, a ‘silly goose.’”

— My Silly Husband 💙