Thick, dry ropes, with strong flames, burning,
running parallel, at different speeds, converging,
The flames race on, hiss and move along, swerving,
so much uncurling to do, it’s unnerving –
A full, blue moon hovers over big changes,
that shape and carry on the flames to their next stages,
The coming days, weeks, years, you’ll feel the full force
of where these winds of change blow the flames’ embers to-wárds.
Some of the ropes run a straight, narrow line,
keeping their flames the same – a slow, steady grind,
others slither-and-wind, flames wither-and-die,
Ultimately they all spiral together and combine.
This fire is all we have – the present is the blaze,
The past are the charred ropes, smoke rising in a haze
and future are the ropes ahead, yet to be burned – unfazed
by the warmth of the moment that we feel day to day.
So many of the burning strings entangle at angles
that show a grim picture – the near future looks mangled,
the present feels pretty unpleasant, we’re not fine;
headed toward uncertainty, as crooked timelines intertwine.- RSM