They are firing fireworks,
who knows why; I certainly
don't, and care little
of the brief lights flaring
up in the dark autumn
sky, like lives being lost.
Darkness takes over,
and in tomorrow's dim
light, the wooden sticks
and their burned heads
will lay there, among dying
grass and weeds, forlorn.
26.08.2023
#Poem #Poems #Poetry #Verse
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