ashes and gold



black smoke in the sky
over these river plains
tells me trees in the hills
are burning in the wind

the sun sets and the sky
becomes a shade of grey
and darkness is growing
in our quiet homeland

night falls and our children
lie sleeping in their beds
blanketed in warm silence
as one time we had been

howling, the graveyard wind
with its disturbing tongue
lashes at the night air
and murmurs in our ears

macabre nightmares wake us
as we drown in our beds
in the lake of illusion
beneath waves of crimson

through the unlit hallways
in the rooms filled with doubt
we beg the beasts we dream
to leave our children be

the trees in the highlands
are monuments of ash
but their burnt blackened seeds
shall inherit their earth

the black smoke in the sky
over these river plains
is banished by the blue
but it will come again

morning, we awaken
day sifts through the window
as night’s curtain is drawn
to the song of the birds

our children’s eyes open
they tell us of bad dreams
so we reassure them
ourselves not reassured