by Timothy Reaves

Created on: May 01, 2010

Pale the light that flutters by in instances between

Starkly darkly orange glows, the whizzing light machine.

How the shower moves about - ablaze the embers roar.

They are close, and by that fact outweigh the ones that soar.

Skies are scarred with wispy wreaths of sulfurous delight.

Booming crackles here and there give life unto the night.

In the ecstasy of this, I toast the air with fire.

Oh what will I do with it?  Oh what will thenspa transpire?

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