Fire Makes Ash

The fire turns the past to ash,

As if a cigarette tossed upon dry grass.

The future brings the ruble back, like a revolution restores power back.

Statues fall and buildings crash, communities in need are told to relax.

Time stands still when governments collapse.

There will come a moment, to take it back.

Militaries march across the land, bombs go off hidden in sand.

You hear some scream. You watch some die.

In little town people ask why.

Protests form and hundreds come, spreading word through peace and love.

One issue rises from compassion for all.

The dominion they claim isn’t built on love.

So through fire fights and bullet rain.

Every death goes in vein.

In grief people sing.

To remind them of the love they received.

People live and people die, but when it is not there time

That pain is just too much to bring upon. Any. Living. Thing.

Underground six feet below is where we all will go.

Tombstones sink in the snow.

Disasters come.

Disasters go.

Freezing winds and molten snow.

The end is nigh, it’s been a nice go.