The War of Tracers and Flares

Through the darkness,

the glowing of flares

floating downward, through the years,

                                        burning white incendiaries

                                            turning the clock away from any hope,

                                              fading stains floating in air,

                                                no brightness to speak of.

From beginning to end,

a voice cries,

               searching for syllables,

                                        then words

                                             flicker with sangfroids.

Upright through the night, the clock tumbles,

                                     my blood misses the heart,

                                     the shadows dance in the gelling vapors.

               This voice erupts from the arteries as the flares fall to Earth,

                then flashes from tracers cross the landscape;

                                                     I  wants out from any claim of victory.