Fires

 

Fires

 

Out there on the edge,

You see the constant glow,

And it is a comfort,

And a warning,

And a threat,

And a reminder,

We must never let the fires get low.

No one knows who started the fires,

Burning these 60 years.

No one knows how the fires were started,

That must not get low.

They keep the bad things away.

Thay have no name, these things,

They never look the same.

They stay beyond the fires,

Breeding in number,

Singing their horrible song

When the moon goes dark.

It is said they feed on rage-grass,

And will charge the villages

If the fires get low.

Then we will offer the wrong-birthed,

Whether animal, 

Or else,

And the very old

And the incurable

Will lie in the scorched fields,

And we may live in less fear,

For we have made submit,

And are penanced,

Or at least paid

For a time,

Unless the fires get low.

Do not go beyond the blaze,

Most do not return.

Those that do have been broken,

Or worse,

Tell of impossible things,

And speak of wonders,

And expose their madness

And are sent away

To live in their dreams

Should they dare.

Then do the elders

Erase their names from the count,

And we are less,

And it may happen

That soon there will be no one

To tend the flames,

And we will be overcome,

When the fires get low.

 

Cliff Lake 2/5/2024

Copyright © Clifford Lake 2024