"Sphere"
by Stephanie Smith
Mixing midnight oils on a darkened canvas.
an artist professed his view of the world.
He birthed a sea
and found Earth's children had drowned.
Firewater had scalded their skin
and left them fleshless on the ocean floor.
Dead before they got here.
He created a setting sun through crimson tears.
A dreamless day gone by,
As banal as days forgotten.
The morning found his images as dust.
And he an illusionist
inspired by the night to work magic
on a world that left him feeling
nothing at all.
(published in Not One of Us, #19, 1997)
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