Threaded Dusk

A dawn imprisoned, painted red,
Snow drawn as a slender thread,
I saw your face and yet I survived,
What passion’s storm does this abyss imply?

On pale days, like flames burning bright,
Steel blue, unsettled in its pride,
Even death won’t reach this dark abyss,
Could another bear this weight of consciousness?

Cities no longer breathe their smoke,
Lost in the storm, vanished in hope,
Endless tears that fall but never fade,
For those who died and were betrayed.

The white and the red, the ice and the flame,
Disasters like soot and embers claim,
They merge in the horizon toward light,
Cutting through peace, this peace-filled mind.