Where the Sky Breaks

Atop the edge where silence leans, A figure stands — the dusk between. No name, no face the canvas shows, Just wind that hums what no one knows. The sky explodes in molten fire, A final gasp of day's desire. It stains the clouds in crimson breath, A masterpiece that flirts with death. Does he await or does he grieve? Or dream of flight he can't achieve? The brushstroke speaks, but not too loud — He’s part of sky, yet not a cloud. He watches time with open chest, The sun, the fall, the endless rest. Yet still he stands, the final spark— A question burning through the dark.