I.
An eye,
golden and staring,
cruel and yellow,
watching, waiting.

II.
A flame dancing 
over the tree tops
flickering a vibrant orange,

wishing for a star
to make a dream
that it doesn’t dare voice
come true,

or to turn the trees to flame.

III.
A teardrop from a sun,
dripping through the clouds--

A fierce light
falling
slowly through space

wanting only to touch the earth

and burn.

IV.
A sliver of color 
against a sea of blackness.

A shimmering of light
burning before the utter desolation
of a dark cloud,

Before the sheer inky cotton
that catches the stars
and swallows their light,

tasting their cold fire
and finding it good.

V.
A portal to another world,

An enchanted doorway
leading to another time and place;

A gateway to a foreign land
where the sun chills a shadowed sky
and the moon burns away the ice 
from the windows of the marionette people,

who dance on the ends of their strings
under the midnight sun.

IV.
Bewitching light,
Captivating star:
burning,
bleeding,
seething.

Impure and cold--

oh so cold--

you dazzle,
mesmerize,
and hypnotize

the unwary
who stare without guile 
into your eyes
seeing only the good,
the beauty,
in what can only be a holy light.

A liar
in a forest of untruths
to scratch and mark the unwitting
until they too trust no one...