2011 - Day 6

Through the last door
Of the looming tower,
A quick pace
My mind heavy with thoughts.
Then in my tracks
I stop.
The horizon is on fire -
A wave of magenta
Swirled with lavendar,
A melted creamsicle
Dripping deep orange blood,
With blue grays wisps
Of thin, cool smoke,
Tentacles reaching towards Heaven.
Frozen on the cusp
For long, wondrous moments,
Until the ocean
Smothers the flames.