Burning Lights
lighthouses; beam dreams asleep, awake, between
weighted muses surface from jade pool depths
breathe gasps of fresh love, beautiful, dark
what’s born of dark often comes to light
funnel cones shine on nighted ships
shore swept or safely harboring
flags parade by watch mills
free to wander streets
vie, fly then die
living poetry
burning
lights
Copyright © Mark Ackerson | Year Posted 2015
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