Killed While Watching Fireworks In Traffic

The dull, inky vista of night ignites
he marched home
as if to say to no-one that he was coming
to imagine upon the helm of sleep a vessel in place of vacancy
a source of heat he cannot buy
a blanket earned by love and love gave and love taken
the headlights are off-white meteors
rays of speed and locomotive noises of anguish
as if engines weep when heated
and grow sleepy when they sputter
a crosswalk emerges
spewing skinny spiders of pale gold and light violet
he looked up as he strode down the lane where small gardens of dead love still wither
and watched the crumbling explosions
he reached for a hand no longer there to hold
too blurred by the beauty

He was killed while watching fireworks in traffic

by Luke J. Holt

Comments (1)

A powerful poem, a great write.