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.
Mar 28, 2011
Mar 28, 2011 at 12:00 PM UTC
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.
Fear is a terrible thing.
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