Darkness envelops the sky,
And a mist rains upon this bleak soil.
Shrouded with mystery, an end feels nigh,
As the world looks like it was cooked with broil.
Only in the distance is a warm colour,
Up high in this shrouded horizon.
A reminder of what was, before this squalor,
When there was light, there's now only silence.
As a carcass of what once was a tree swings,
With it's bark scarred, rippen to shreds,
Beside lay ashen and scorshed figures, things,
Burned from rains of fire, crushed as if tread.
That warm colour grows more intense, vivid,
It weeps like at the feet of Achilies did Priam.
The world burns again, becomes mush, liquid,
But still, je vais vers la flamme.
-J
