A poem by Bethany N. Bella | bare bones
Roiling waves of fire and flint churn heavily across the sky.
Like pillars of magma, plumes of feisty earth, their migration ceases in sound.
And the robins both stop, and the wind hushes too, as we gaze at this teeming mass
Of vertigo volcano rumbling by – an inverted column of ash.
The smoke of sulfur linger still, and I am left to wonder:
Should our world ignite like one last flame – for the sky bleeds red tonight?