A color
burning in hues of the autumn leaves
a feel
warm as love on a chill winter night
blaze
bring the rain
agent take the brush

wrong, right
death's now in sight
his scythe's sharper than man's knowledge
his swing cannot be slowed or stopped
can it?

clear, white, blue, purple
yellow, orange, red
hiss, pop
crisp, burnt

burry my soul in the earth
where the sickle can't reach
watch the huts burn

Firebombs
mores the pity...
pity us, those lost, those gained
those who have tested the blade
and come back sharper
learn from the actions
learn from the history

even learned,
history does repeat itself
why?

More's the pity...