Starthistle

There are no stars tonight
A haze 
A cloudless sky
Where smoke swamps the air like fog
S'mores and campfire logs
Burned to ash in a larger rage
Fighting against a colder cage
The eyes sting
Like star thistle to bare shins
Writhe to keep it all in
And as ghosts pervade the mind
A smile touches the kind
Who gather the weeds
Hardly descried nor seen
And with such assembled
A bouquet amid the lurid scene

The End

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