Through tempest spurned
And fury turned
On a meadow swathed in white.
Lightning rods attracting
The wrath of heaven acting
Shot forth onto dry grass.
Kindlings always destined
To burn up, never questioned
No dreams of an unscorched future.
To smoulder away
Paving the way
For those that will burn brighter.
– Vagabond Prophet
Vagabond Prophet 