Fire Isn't the Dimmest

On darkened wings,

we'll see where the phoenix soars.

With outstretched hands,

they'll guide the slaver's ships.

The drumming of their death march

beats the heavens dry.

Heartless waves

fade to wisps of dust and sand.

Cries echo into themselves,

but the empty refuse to listen.

Souls were stripped so long ago,

all they do is glisten, lifelessly.

Walls cracked and pillars crumbled.

Ignore the wailing.

The mind knows not what is best for the insatiable greed of the heart.

Author's Note

A poem that came to me while listening to music last night.