Thousand Word Fridays: Fire


When the anger settles with the ash,

Will the fires resume their hibernation?

Fitful sleep that never rests, only starves

Weaving new blood into the fabric that binds

That shields, that neglects the wound

But staves the infection

Or will the redded streets sprout branches

Returning asphalt to its stones

Will the world itself arise

And weave its bloody branches

Into the arms of a people waiting

A trellis to divide the sky

And rip the heavens open…

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