Night of Ruins - Red Dust

Night Of Ruins

Into the petulant night of dubious rebellion she runs hair flowing, true as a

thin steeled dart on bare feet - lifting  the latch onto mistaken fields of

concrete freedom finding  endless exile in that sudden sense of metallic

staccato sprung fuses - she slumps but another anonymous scar her head of long

hair billows lifeless as any other  tumbleweed in the promised poisoned

pestilence of the Night Of Ruins,

Red Dust

On the steps behind the garden gate he sat, small dark eyed boy compact and

steely as a newly minted dart coiled in the exile of his mothers dubious fear. 

Outside others shouted, kicked unseen stones in the red baked earth - he watched

as billows of joy drifted through the latch until a boy chasing a soccer ball

came to the gate and  waved him on - petulant, dubious, rebellion puffed his

sparrowed chest and dark eyes dancing he quickly lifted the latch and ran onto

the red rousted dust as fuses sprung and all was glinting metallic,  a boy arm,

a shower of red rock, a sneakered foot, the soccer ball, all collateral damage,

scar on the land - this now gone boy once safe behind the grated gate now mixing

with the red dust.