By Lesley Jane Black

Amber sparks fly heavenward,
glowing in the creeping blackness.
Abruptly they fade to nothing; souls consumed by the dark.
Burnished by firelight, faces shine,
delighting in The Mystery.
Childhood dreams are enacted:
an attempt to capture magic.
A gathering of souls, holding the world at bay.
The reality of childhood hopes settling in the embers,
Leaving only the smell of sadness.
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Originally from Scotland but now rooted in the South East of England, Lesley Jane Black has played with words all her life. She enjoys the power language has to create a mood or paint a picture. She has had work published in Dreich, Hot Pot Magazine and Soor Ploom Press and her cat is keen on bedtime stories.
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