B. C. A Flame
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All day long, we are under
this orb, orangey, pink in hue.
We see it through the
ghosts, the essences we once knew.
Helios, on his voyage over
this blanket of cremated life, flies.
Unfortunately, only he, not
we, doth see beautiful blue skies
while we, under this monstrously
heavy blanket of gray,
have yet been able to view a
cloud or a clear blue sky day.
B. J.“A ” 2
October 5th
2017
