Forest Fire Raging

 

The sky, a copper bowl, began to bleed,

A crimson sun, a fever-driven need.

The wind, a thief, stole whispers from the breeze,

And fed the hunger gnawing at the trees.

A hungry beast, with smoke-filled, hungry maw,

Devoured the pines against all nature's law.

The crackle turned to thunder, deep and low,

A living, monstrous, agonizing glow.

The forest floor, a vibrant, verdant green,

Became a memory, a silent scene.

The animals fled, a panicked, desperate run,

Their only sin to stand before the sun.

The deer, with eyes of terror, turned to flee,

The squirrel, trapped upon a burning tree.

The birds, a storm of feathers, took to flight,

Across a world now turned to orange light.

The air, a shroud of poison, thick and gray,

Stifled the breath of those who could not stray.

The firefighters, tiny, brave, and grim,

Stood at the edge of fire's wicked whim.

They fought the monster, armed with water's stream,

Against a force that lived a fevered dream.

But fire laughed, and leaped, and grew, and spread,

And turned the living, breathing forest dead.

And in the silence, after fire's rage,

The landscape turned a dark and bitter page.

A wasteland, scorched, of twisted, blackened forms,

Where only memory remains of storms.

And yet, a promise, whispered in the ash,

A tiny seed, a fleeting, hopeful flash.

That from this ruin, new life will begin,

A story told, when spring breathes life again.