Dan Enache Poet Free verse

The Burning of the Ashen Sky

The Burning of the Ashen Sky

They raise walls of black wax and extinguish lights with blind fingers,
Point to shadows in the night as if shadows were the only truth,
Lips sealed with red wax hide the truth in glass boxes,
The whispered rules have no end—eternal circles of thick blue smoke.
They paint the sky in shades of living ash and dead gray at once,
What was bright now fades like a memory forgotten by the future,
The brilliance of day becomes dense shadow that sings melodies of lead,
And the colors retreat into earth like snakes afraid of light.
But burn the sky—tear it down with hands of golden and electric green flames,
Let the light return spinning in spirals of pure liquid fire,
Break the chains that sing in the night their sound of soft metal,
Burn the sky and let the truth be found in the radiant ash.
Their cracked mirrors reflect the lie but they don't want to see the cracks,
They hide behind old decrees written with ink of darkness,
The double-edged rules cut differently—some into pieces of golden dream,
Others into stardust—freedom is locked in a beautiful mockery.
They paint the sky in metallic gray and transparent black like blind glass,
But we will not let it remain so—we will brush the sky with brushes of fire,
We will draw new constellations with our fingers burning in intense blue,
And their ashen sky will become gold dust floating in warm wind.
Burn the sky—rip it with screams that become birds of red flames,
Let the light return dancing in concentric circles of liquid rainbow,
Break the chains—listen to their musical sound when they melt into lava,
Burn the sky and truth will be discovered in the perfumed smoke of freedom.
Fingers point to shadows but shadows are only the temporary absence of light,
Sealed lips will be opened by the song of birds coming from the east,
The whispered rules will disappear like morning fog when the sun rises,
And their wax walls will flow like rivers of magically lit candles.
They paint the sky but we will burn their painting in green and yellow flames,
We will return the stolen colors back to the sky—the deep blue and living red,
The cracked mirrors will become transparent windows toward gardens of light,
And the mocked freedom will fly like a golden eagle through our burned sky.
Burn the sky—tear it down with hands of electric storm and hot hail,
Let the light return flowing like honey through the cracks of reality,
Break the chains—hear the crystalline sound when they transform into fire butterflies,
Burn the ashen sky and truth will bloom in our secret garden.

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