In the meadow of wheat
dances a lad
basking in the hearty grains
natures wholesome meat,
Skipping daintily
in the heat of June
under a yellow sun
for hours
until
a gush of wind
blows out the sun.
Silence...
Frozen in his stance of merriment.
Eyes to the sky...
A faint whisp of blue...
Distant...
A hollowed whistle...
Louder...
Brighter...
Closer...
Louder. Brighter. Closer.
Louder! Brighter! Bam!
Square in the chest.
Airborne
Ten feet
Backwards
Thud.
Shaking, twitching
breathless...
Concentration.
Building.
Expanding...
He belches a blue flame
throwing him up right...
Fire stops...
False equilibrium...
Sneers staggered fangs.
Eyes of magma...
Dimmed.
Turbulent twitching...
Shrieks to the sky
spewing a streak of bright blue heat...
Halt.
Blank.
Deep
Hollow
Fading
Gone.
Down and out.
Yellow from the east
rushes onto the singed wheat
sneaking into the eyelids
of the lad that lays
He sits up,
blinking hard.
The fire that sat
scorched his nerves.
A never healing burn.
He walks across the field
with fire on his mind
twitching all the way home.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem