Flakes of Ash

The flame of life colliding against the tip

Of a bone white cigarette

That leaves behind a pale white ghost

Trailing smoke across the wind.

 

But the pale white ghost grows larger,

And cannot support its form.

It hovers over the graveyard

And is released by the hand of god.

 

Tiny flakes of falling ash,

Rival snowflakes from the clouds

And fill the grave with lifeless dust.

But still the ember glows,

And still the pale ghost grows.

 

Until life meets the filter,

And like lightning bursts against the ground.

Reviews

[Ed Fagan]

simply put, this is fresh and flawless... very well written.