Ariella

17

Pulsing sun of millions of stars, a burning vermilion tyrant who ebbs and flows
on the vast plains of suburbia,
smelting bleak asphalt to boiling rivers of creatures that reach up and cling
to the soles of those who trek beside the patches of wilting, sweating dandelions and weeping willows,
soft blades of tarnished grass which lay flattened under syrup air.
The great conductor, inspiring insects to wail, hum, pray to him, the almighty star.
Birds wither under his glare, sinking to rest on electric lines with feathers drooping.
Trapped for nine months, barred from the world,
he breaks loose from his chains, preying on the living, chasing shadows until
the cool touch of autumn, marveling at the awful waste,
strokes long fingers across the worn pelts of tired trees,
reprieves them of duty,
makes way for the festival of colors