Freeway Drive
It was on my drive home from work
Down the freeway that I saw it;
The smoke.
High above the lush green trees is rose,
Weightless, carried up to heaven,
Like a magnet,
Constantly pulled north.
It was a home in a fire burning ever brighter
In the evening sky.
All the cluttered papers fueled the
Fierce tongues of
Red, gold, and orange.
Pictures of past memories,
Burned and faded;
As though they never happened;
As though erased by the quick hand
Of time;
And replaced with ashes and dust.
To ash,
To dust.
To that simple formula which gave birth
To infinity.
It was my childhood home the place where
Summers were free and winters were long;
Where all was innocent and all was guilty
With blood red;
Where I was a child and a grown child.
And the flames engulfed it all.
Purging,
Disinfecting
The bacterial stains on the walls;
Sterilizing the foundations and preserving
Its strong hold.
And just like that is all came down;
It all
Began again.
To ash,
To dust.
That simple formula:
To ash,
And dust.
Anonymous
