The clouds are marching armies,
Tarnished armor gilded gold—

Writhing soldiers change formation,
Crimson clouds born of the old—

The purple Lord invades, and
Cloaks the sky in His dark fold.




Night arcs me,
stretched back until ache
is fused with awe
at the sight of unborn suns
in blackened wombs.

A chill echoes past,
dilute in darkness.




umbilical clouds
tie to nightwomb
mottled red
daybirth screams
seeps through indigo to blue
angry orangespot cries
fades white

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ChaoSpirals