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.