March Create: The End of the Pier

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Once it was a wedding cake confection,

wrought iron coiled like icing.

Fashionable ladies rustled in silk,

fortune tellers promised long life,

music drifted from bands to drown

threatening voices of wind and sea.

A snake of fire hatched on the pier

tasted and swallowed woodwork,

slithered among columns and walkways,

uncoiled scarlet through windows.

A grey confusion of smoke arose

volcanic eruption over the sea.

Merely a memory of the ballroom remains.

A turtle-shell of twisted tubes and stays

garlanded with fishing nets and twine

emerges rust-red from a grey silk sea.

Echoes of pavilion whisper on sky:

orphan columns bearing empty air.

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