Teetering on a fragile precipice
As oxygen is pulverized in the stifling grasp of smoke
Hills losing their majestic facade to merciless flame
Gasping, choking—hands blackened by soot
Painted on skin not meant to burn
Blood coursing with adrenaline and desperation
Clinging to shreds of hope that
A miracle might come.
Meaningless words tumble from the slack mouths of politicians
Carelessly blank with little substance
No answers for the tense, worried expressions of the public
Panicked questions fill the air like the smoke of the fires
The hills aren’t the only ones burning
Their minds are burning too
Clouded with the fumes of panic
The idea of the future is listless, broken—of shattered dreams
What was once gleaming gold, woven with ambition and anticipation
Crumbles into a hollow shell
Will the world be blackened with the ghosts of raging fires?
Ice puddled from the rising heat?
Will the politicians keep mumbling slimy words?
An oil spill dripping from their lips that bode nothing but empty promises?
What is it we look for?
What will we get?
A husk of a world built on tears hastily wiped away?
Dull declarations that disintegrate into the wind?
We hold fast to hope.
Because
Although the world is burning
And our minds are burning
Our hope is burning too
A stubborn light when the light in the world has snuffed out.