And what of death?
That hollow stare from eyes as blue as storm clouds
Whose patience is infinite,
When death is the Absence of existence
His touch cold, but so familiar
Like asphalt beneath car tires,
Beneath helmets Beneath skin
Hollow
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Poetry from the Burning Sky
About Me
In my endless wanderings and perusal of current and historical events, I find the need for an outlet for more selfish cerebral wanderings. I am a Canadian living in the UK, in London to be exact, and the Burning Sky is both the visually stunning sunset across the Thames and the larger more poignant sky over my home in Ontario.
The Burning Sky
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