Sunset Ruminations

The sky dark
Remained like a torn carpet,
A Diaspora of refugees,
Fleeing the tempest
Of a violent home land…
Wounds remained
Like gnarled creeks…
Dark settled in violently
Like a knife, searing the
Flesh of the clouds into
Battle of surreal pilferage …
T S Eliot remained silent
And meditating drunk
On a soiled Waste Land.