‘til all hell blooms





It starts at a street‑corner park—
one match flicked wrong,
and the whole block tastes brimstone.

Kids stop mid‑kick of a half‑flat ball,
dogs stiffen,
old men lift their brows
—they’ve heard this tune before.

Then sky goes a bad fruit colour,
as every window leans to glare.

Still—
—someone laughs,
sharp snapping twigs,
and in that moment the world decides
to bloom the only way it knows how:
wild, unruly,
bright as a dare.









Poetry by anonface
Read 20 times
Written on 2026-06-14 at 09:26

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one trick pony The PoetBay support member heart!
Cinematic, creation myth or Phoenix, in the beginning . . . I'm not sure what I mean to say, but I really like this.
2026-06-14