It's Still Life

The Fire of …

War.
Of white stone gardens,
Of rubble smooth as shoulders,
And wreckage darkened boulders.

Of dust with no human footprint,
As if some mythical beast
Raked the sky of dawn and

Descended on jagged edges
Of glass. Steel. And bits of cloth
Hanging like flags of ignored

Surrender. And we clench fire
In our hands, fearing to let go
As it’s our only final possession

Written for PAD Day 26 “Fire”. Some artwork is created using Midjourney AI, and is identified as such in the ALT text or captioned. Images are copyright and not to used without permission, which I willingly give when asked, and when not for commercial use. Imagery and poems/prose ©Misky 2006-2024.