Ash falls down on this land again,
Solvents cloud the air once again.
Suffocation and stifling,
The slow crunching of fabric unravelling.
As the light ash oppresses in high density,
As annoyance turns into sheer savagery,
Colour diminishes from this beautiful land.
Almost systematically in hand.

Who are those that have created this?
Who are those that have let this persist?
It is those of the Sky.
Those who look over us so high.
They have chosen to behave small minded and blind.
They have chosen to be absolute in their kind.
They have forgotten it is the Heavens and Earth who ordained their role and tasks.
They have forgotten this truth hidden behind their conceptual masks.
And thus they have chosen to be insincere.
The lies that have confounded them, they adhere.

And alas the light of dynamic harmony dwindles and dims,
And all becomes slow, greyscale and grim.

But as the ash piles in thick coats,
The stench and heat of injustice smokes,
And in the occasional fresh gulps of hope,
Amber ignites, littered in starry glows.
And although the transformation’s commence is slow,
In every passing moment, the flames grow ever bold.
In its vibrancy it roars in hunger,
Becoming ever so magnificent and stronger.
Spitting out flames of their own organised discord,
Consuming inhibitions, rising with flaming tongue and sword.
Fuming to those of the Sky, to acknowledge their audacity,
To acknowledge their spite and account for their hypocrisy.
In a radiance of colour and reactions,
In dramatic and dynamics convulsions,
The flames continue to clean this land.
Against those who raise a suppressive hand.

And when all is cleansed and gone,
And injustice is undone.
The flames and smoke shed into nothingness.
Their role and presence seed back into completeness.
For colour to settle and assemble,
Upon the fabric that is conducible.
To give space for life to be again,
To allow the land and harmony to be one again.

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