Ken's Poetry

Smoke In The Air

There’s smoke in the air
that ripples through the forest
and something green is burning.
Toneless and mildly hysterical
the birds sing plaintively of pain.
Out of the damp earth
rises a numbing breeze
trembling the leaves,
misting the dangerous past.
Walking beside a leaden stream
searching the curves ahead
for a glimpse of you,
tricked by the oozing shadows
hopeful and desolate at once
in the cold draught of a sigh,
I struggle wet-footed
under the crowding trees
trapped in a dying past.
The smoke in the air is you
and I am burning too.