August Sunsets

August sunsets rage so quietly you could
almost mistake the oblivion for beautiful.
Fluorescent orange hue a glorious death
of sticky-sweet summer, a silent scream
piercing through the sky holding its breath.
Who knew mourning could look so celestial.

I wonder if I cross that skyline I’ll discover a
world that fits around me, one that can
say my name and know its meaning. I wonder if
burning’s what it takes to stop being haunted
by unlived memories and doors to parallel
lives, to step through to serenity instead.

There’s a clock living inside my head and I
think it’s waiting for something to count
down to. Maybe it’s the sinking sun, the
anticipation of twilight that will finally be
enough to kill the longing. Maybe it’s taking
the leap to accept being in the unseen.

I envy it that blip of existence so ethereal it’s
worth immortalising in poems. I envy it the
briefness, a place in time to experience
something like love, or maybe just being known.
To be trapped in a cycle of predetermined
endings and still outshine destiny.

I could accept this life of inevitability if there
was a refuge to fall towards, a destination to
make the blazing mean something, or maybe
just someone to watch it happen and see a
sunset in a fire. I could forgo a life of belonging
if the outside had somewhere soft to land.

Instead I’m just left with all this shame staining
my hands and mocking my desires into
submission, an archive of all the yearnings
unfulfilled. Most of all I’d like the space for a
quiet and beautiful rage, one that can be
romanticised into something otherworldly.