Kerosene on the Breeze

I can’t breath.

My eyes glaze at the sky ablaze,

The blanket of clouds

do nothing to smother the wildfire

unleashed beneath the troposphere.

The reek of kerosene

Dances on the veritable strokes of a friendly breeze

With the hint of tangerines and passionfruit

Lingering shortly thereafter.

Such delicate notes denote

a struggle of the scents,

To influence the senses in descending order of odor.

I can’t breath.

Their eyes glaze at the sky ablaze.

Men of established wealth and dignity,

Languish in dissent to determine their upended reality.

No one knows what to do,

The harbor remains backlit by a hellish hue

Two ships remain, remnants of our evacuation.

New refugees, we escape faceless,

But alive.

The specter of living looms large,

But our gaunt demeanor will improve over time,

As long as luck wills it.

The road acts as a market stall.

Burnt tangerines lay motionless,

As we sway in unison,

In our march for destiny.

Reflecting upon the past,

Leaves me wondering,

How anyone could have chosen this.