There is no room for fire to give birth
To new flames and burning wonder or
Pristine sparks. No fervor of any worth
That might arouse dead earth into new doors.
No, it seems that dreams are forfeited here,
Left behind in favor of old remains.
The ashes of antique ancestry smeared,
Every vestige of self choked under stains.
Through the echoes of deserts we must cry,
Past the black sands and consuming faces
To the lush forests where fire relies
Not on silhouettes or empty spaces.
The leaves and the branches of trees must grow
So the brilliance of new fires may glow. |
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