Wasted years fray and pop,
weakening like a rope burning at both ends;
the final taught, straining line
defiantly tethering a feeble balloon to earth.
The fire paints the sky with decay.
The flume a regretful memoir, the cloud a monument,
memories and promises collecting into a giant black blemish
suspended some unfathomable distance above.

Frenzied flames pick and claw and unravel,
casting an unearthly orange aura
reflected back in nearby pools of regret.
Unwelcome ash falls forming waves in all directions,
those ripples becoming a tsunami of redemption
born anew from the last breath of the last good-bye.
That final moment drawn-out and memorialized
as the rope finally surrenders to the flame.

Rescued by a savior wind
a little blue balloon free again to float and be,
its trajectory spiraling out far beyond
the smoldering grass and smothering smoke.
A tiny spherical spec, nearly lost in the distance,
waiting for the rambling celestial currents
to carry it to places far better than it has been.

06/02/2008

Posted on 06/02/2008
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