What will come of this mark?

What will come of this mark?

No more than a ripple

To mar the surface .

Will it take long to fade?

Or quickly disappear,

With all the grace

Of a blood red sunset

On the equator.

A brief burning.

A kiss of such intensity,

It burns the sky.

And paints the world

With fiery fingers

Touched, with all the latent

Heat of a failing star,

A final flare.

Reaching out,

For just an instant,

Before a simple sliding,

A gentle falling,

Wrapped in silence,

Into the deepest abyss.

Did the ancients

Pray for its return?

Afraid of bearing witness

To a final death,

In each nights

Incendiary burn.

Will a prayer be simply said

When that fate

Is all that lies before me?

And what of the

Small bright stain

That I might make,

Upon the hearts

Of those who wait

And mourn?

Will this lie

As heavy on the soul?

Or as lights blink out

Will they see

The world’s revolving,

And live in hope,

Of a new day’s dawn,

And keep their

Home fires burning.