Poetry: "Fires of Sunset" - Earlier Composition

From stuffy corridors I step,

A smile on my lips, a song in my ears,

Into the fading light.

I stare skyward,

And watch the world spin,

As clouds rush by above,

Aglow and colored

By the dying day.

Grey-blue puffs stark against the sun,

Lit with all the colors of an autumn oak:

Red, orange, yellow, the colors of inevitable

Doom; necessary for rebirth, the day comes again,

The oak is green once more.

Fire alights on my spirit,

Borne down from the heavens, searing my soul.

My essence scorched,

My body chilled,

The fires of sunset forge anew,

Letting the icy evening temper what is made.