False Comfort

False Comfort

In the oasis of surrender
destruction creeps in
as the gray of dusk is laid out
like a blanket .

The yellow/orange/red of summer does not sleep,
it dies,
and is resurrected
to become the future's relic
of today.

It is the sullen eye that sees
it's double in the reflection
of rivers, and lives that were knitted
in effigy.

Enter, then, through the door
where tomorrow burns secretly, and
sweetly.