Beneath Fire’s Sky

It is the burning sky;

that oh, so high divide

that drives us apart,

sends us seeking clarity.

Stars blacked out

by billow freedom veil;

under a smudge sun,

ravens flock like murders.


Run like a hunted stag

through the undergrowth.

Dive from the heights

of the mountains’ cornice.

Never been much

for concrete

and right angles;

they deceive the eye

and the mind soon follows.


All the world smells like a tire fire;

acrid and tearful,

our vision would once pass the big hill,

but now lays down

and plays dead in the valley,

seeking for the sleep to come over.


Never resurrect her;

den mother,

sleeping warrior.

Under the cover of the smoke,

burnt black and empty.

Move to the sounds

of the clean run

river water;

there will be no celebrations;

but for the savage mind.


Laughter of the lost ones,

playing in the ashes.

All done and over

is their work,

for the desolation

comes down hard

on the land,

on the river Otter;

until the rain comes

and they run

for their sanctuaries.


All the sky burns

and the world

will recover,

but the people,

they will not,

for their vision

sees only death.

Fear drives their feet

and their hands

only seek to feed their mouths,

but there’s no food here,

only smoke

and dreams of the world to come.

From the ashes

and the water

and the sky,

when the stars return.


HG – 2017


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