Sparks swirled like snow, or was it snow swirling like sparks, in a gust of history.
Insufficient to light the darkness, the swarm faded, leaving a faint dazzle in the eye.
Regalia paraded unseen, trumpets silent, a stealth war killing us from within.
We gave no quarter to ourselves, short-changed each other and, spent, we fell.
Souls upswept in ashes smeared a sky, left smut on ruins too big for us to see.
From outside the orbit of The Moon, perhaps it looked pretty, a show soon done.
/ geste
