Soft curtains laying still,
Darting legends and burning hills.
Hence the carpet,
Laying and bare,
Charred at the corners with solid despair.
Choking a sudden during the fall,
The trees are nigh as the courage is stalled.
Flames and thought brewing together,
Forming a rank higher than others.
Torn out hopes
Rank with sight,
See this world slithering in caked ash,
And darkened blight
From the carpet so burning,
Drenched in soot of many despairs,
Looking through windows that are no longer there.
Burning and turning,
The hope and the hate,
Dousing the flames
With a finality of fate,
And since the carpet is charred and laid,
There the curtains still silently hang,
White and gray,
So still and so soft,
Almost as if…
They too are lost.
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