Dark-vowelled smoking columns aspire ruin
as dust-tongued, forested roof caves innavely;
water-spoken island surrenders to timbers
of flamed and lillified heaven-circling pyre.
Aghast of tragedy, fire-dwarfed gargoyles are
hearting a tear-culled Paris in hymnally tone
to dignify bell-voiced ash of towering ages;
above rubble, The King’s cross, power-gilded stands.
Linking to dVerse poetics with Laura Bloomsbury and loving the hyphenate-coined words by poet Dylan Thomas (as featured in my poem).
a poem in my pocket 