By Glenise Lee

Cold, clear space.

Like the ringing of a wet finger

round a wineglass rim,

the stars pour down

their timeless symphony

onto an earth bewildered.

The hymn began its journey

millions of years ago;

the distance beyond comprehension,

the song unchanged forever.

Our ears are filled with silence;

corrupt, we are deaf to the music.

Pulses of sound never ceasing;

radio waves from some dead star

outliving their fiery creator,

seeking a sympathetic ear.

Their beat is lost beyond, outwards.

Earth has no receiver.

To search the stars is to see yesterday,

tumbling through the void;

an orchestration of aeons past,

a glimpse of stars gone cold.

Such is the music of time,

falling on deaf, blind ears.

SUMMER IN THE CITY
by Glenise Lee

It arced through the night like a comet;

a red-hot flame scoured across retinae.

A howling mob ran towards the splash of liquid fire

that flooded the glass-littered street.

The leash is off.

The mad dogs run

in the summer heat.

Packs of testosterone

roam the city,

declaring tribal war;

and while politicians

make excuses,

young men

assemble weapons.

Glenise Lee lives in the UK. and has several short stories and poems published. She's won a couple of online competitions, and says, "I'll never stop writing!"

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