Firestorm
The ticking stops
And we look around, astonished
To be in a forest, surrounded on all sides
By charred trees
Victims of wild energy
At one time or another

It is in this corpseyard
That brilliantly colored
Paper clues lazily drift
Down upon the breeze
To tangle in your hair
And cover my eyes

But not until much later
Would I realize
Had I opened them
And not remained fearful
Of these new lenses

I might have seen through their voices
The vibrant hues you brought with you

But as is
We merely circumvented the beauty
Made our way slowly to the gates

And, unknown to us
The magentas and forest greens
Wilted in the darkness
As we left.