Scorched Earth

Healing all wounds

Photo by Malachi Brooks on Unsplash

Into the fiery past we go,
where smoldering whispers call out to centuries-old.
Mishaps and ancestral plunders
burning villages to the ground.

The embers still glow
with burn marks on the coming children’s voices.
Unable to sing.

Where I am,
is where I was.

Forgotten
how to Be.

Where I am heading,
is where I reside.

Absent of thought,
that may be.

Pondering
or Being.

What may
or may not be.

With you,
without me.

With me,
no longer attached to them.

I am
what It Is.

It Is
what I Am.

Returning to the scorched earthen fields
ancestral reminder of forbidden eaten fruits.
Hence, the bloodshed fills the air with
past, present, and future storms.