In Morning

In morning,
The scarlet Sun climbs through the hanging haze,
The parting breaths of Flora who have reached their final days,
And gazing down at Earth below, lets out a saddened sigh,
For life and mirth and gaiety folk shared in days gone by.

In morning,
The sullen Seeker plods towards their home
With nothing left to recognize but ashes and bare bones.
The pictures, trophies, heirlooms, are all buried in debris,
While memories, like pallid phantoms, dissipate and flee.

In morning,
The scar, serrated, rips across the land,
Reminder of the hungry flame’s unquenchable demands—
Rapacious, unrestrained, scorching everything it touches;
Hasten, cease your conquest and release us from your clutches!

In morning,
The sorry Sea bemoans its bosom friend
And wishes that its depths would harbour freshwater to send.
“Desalinate me, purify me, anything you need—
Together we can put an end to Fire’s growing greed!”

In morning,
Survivors seal the doors to their old lives—
Not ready to begin anew, but praying Hope revives.
For now, they hold each other close and gaze up at the Sun,
Who sheds a tear—for battles past, and still more yet to come—
In mourning.