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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.


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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