Whispers of the Future
There’s a dance that fire does.
The flames jump and sway to a rhythm none can hear.
Some men are infatuated by those spinning sparks,
Infatuated enough to crave more.
And more.
And more.
They see beauty in them…
Or maybe intrigue?
Beauty is not a word they recognize when regarding the world.
Money has beauty, not nature.
But whatever attracts them to that infernal tango poisons them.
They ignite the sky just to see the shapes play on top of it.
Their flickering form concealed by the ashes and sand.
Hospitals and schools look like lairs when the dust settles around them.
“They must be free!”
Those men cry,
While the chain sits in their hand,
And their armband sits under their sleeve.

















