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Ira Desmond Jan 2021
As we got older, it became clear
that we wouldn’t have the luxuries

of drink without worry,
of sleep without restlessness,

of raising children
without fear for their survival.

It became clear
that we would never garner

the respect of our elders
no matter how dearly we pined for it,

and that the world itself
would smolder

while those responsible
rested comfortably in their graves,

and those of us to whom
our forebears’ sins were bequeathed

would be left to choke on the smoke
and ashes

of a promise to posterity
allowed to burn instead.
Orange shining through the window
We head outside to take a peek
Blue sky's to the North
A dark haze from the South

Small particulates drifting in the air
You reach out, and a piece lands on your hand
It looks like plant matter, only grey
You gently touch it with your free hand

. . . Ash.
September 2020 wildfires light up the west coast. My perspective from a small coastal town in Oregon. Miles from active burns.
We awoke to specks of white ash over our cars
the cloudy grey sky bore no sun just its heat
and the ocean breeze that cooled in my younger years had become futile
California burned
and although L.A  city did not
it was indeed a table that received a mantle of pollution
Hurting from torture

The Earth whimpers to the skies

Who turn their frosty cheeks

Betrayed, the Earth weeps

Black ancient tears

Remorseful, the skies let down

A corrosive shower of sorrows

Bloodied fog settles, suffocating

Maniacal, pushed off the edge

The Earth sets itself ablaze

Black ancient tears, fueling

Hysterical, the Earth smiles


                As its demons burn


                                Hysterical, the Earth smiles

                                 Black ancient tears, fueling

                                  The Earth sets itself ablaze

                            Maniacal, pushed off the edge
                       Bloodied fog settling, suffocating
                           A corrosive shower of sorrows

                           Remorseful, the skies let down
                                                Black ancient tears

                                   Betrayed, the Earth weeps

                              Who turn their frosty cheeks

                        The Earth whimpers to the skies

                                            Hurting from torture
you remind me of a certain someone,
someone who i was close to like no other,
who caused me so much pain and stress.
exhaustion is a mess and I won't do that to myself again.
why would i put myself in a situation that i've been through before? i won't do it, not when i've already met the end of this road in my past. the road surrounded with wildfires, i barely made it through.
Morgan Paige Aug 2017
Evacuation Alert: Tranquille Valley.
Get out. Bring everything you love.
Ash is falling from the sky,
and the smoke is too much to bare.
The fire's rampage has charred
More than 200,000 hectares,
in 133 days.
It's not safe.
Evacuate immediately.

Evacuate me.
Get out. You are everything I love.
Incinerating everything in your path,
You tranquillize the atmosphere
with your absence.
You smoked me to the filter
You left me to burn.
63 days, and 21 letters.
You're not my safety anymore.
Evacuate immediately.
pc Jan 2016
I don't need calm -
I want stampede in my mind
I want sparklers in my soul
I want wildfires in my heart

I don't need calm -*
And I wouldn't want calm
If the roots of my madness
Will be springing from your veins

Luna Oct 2015
and maybe if we burn
I can show you
all we are made of
is fragile skin and bone
we can drench ourselves
in kerosene
like the first rain of spring
we can find god in the rain.
all of these scars mean nothing
if we burn
all we are, are skin and bone
muscle means nothing to gasoline
love means nothing to wildfires.
i watched a movie that inspired me to write this.
Sarah Kersey Sep 2015
The summer that a boy took scissors to my clothes was the same summer that the whole state erupted into flames

I watched my hometown burn the same night some stupid teenager decided he could drown out my voice with the sound of his desire

I watched a person from my past become a ghost as the events that had chased me through nightmares became reality again

With a brand new skeleton 

I watched this past haunting become a part of a pattern as the boy with the safety scissors replaced him as the latest incident

Everyone walked outside to inhale the fumes while I sat inside on a brown leather couch with someone attempting to rip his way into my soul
All he got was tattered strings of a girl who had already broke the same way a year and six months ago

I wish I would’ve been able to say no loud enough for him to hear
cr Jun 2014
when the word "****"
resonates from the lips of
any teacher, i cannot
help but perceive
how many students' heads
fall downward, staring at
their disquieted hands. i am
wondering how many people are closing
in on themselves, lips pressed together
in thin lines, burying themselves

six feet under into graves
constructed however long ago.
somewhere within the catastrophic enclosings
of their minds, they are the people
reminiscing violent robberies, not
of television sets or radios, but of
innocent souls. they are suffering
from the post-traumatic stress

of feeling  naked skin and cracked
ribcages and heaving lungs
never burn in the turbulent
wildfires left
behind in their burnt
lives; a simple word
is enough to have them
reliving the mournful
affair forming their
empty chest. i glance around the
room for students whose
memory gnaws at their
scarred skin, and

the  problem is
is that there are too many.

— The End —