Burning embers, glowing with desire in the desolate wasteland.
Everything lay black, charred, leveled; once valuable, now no longer.
The cloudless twilight sky a neutral grey, cloaking the brightening scarlet
hues from the mockery of cruel rain.
A solitary owl glides past in silence, relentlessly searching for flaws in
the cover,
his snowy feathers glimmering silver in nonexistent radiance.
Finding nothing, he travels into the vanishing horizon, never fading from
view.

Silently the crimson embers dwell in the undying shadow of a lone, wise
tree.
Lush, the leaves descend, dropped from his coarse fingers,
one by one to the adolescent ashes--kissed, but never scorched.
The wind carries a faint whisper from the boughs like a miracle descending
from heaven on the wings of angels.
Concealing dusk surrenders to a boundless night, and the stars fall.
The embers blissfully weep, nourishing the charcoal desert,
as the rose of time withers away.


 
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