The Smoke Of Many Fires

The river had brought with it much that day
From driftwood to blood from the ember
Some things were hidden
While others were seen
Yet the man somehow could not remember
Having ambled away from the water's banks
To return to his tribe and their lights
He soon found a failing
Of flesh, and of mind
They were no longer robust or bright.

What he could not have seen
Was the sickness upstream
Those abandoned remains of the wasted
What he could not have known
Was the blight of the bone
In each ebb and each flow he had tasted.

Dawn found him ailing, delirium rife
Those he loved feared his illness would wander
With time wearing thin
His young eyes clouded in
As the odour of smoke became stronger.

It was then that he heard the sharp crackle of torches
Carried past him by men from his clan
A panic cut through
All the life that he knew
It was over before it began.

Rope looped his wrists and held tight to his veins
As beside him his relatives sagged
And with tears in their eyes
Through confusion and cries
Out towards the wild flames he was dragged.

Like billions before him, regardless of form
It ended as chance had decided
So briefly contained
An inferno's refrain
Having powered and angered and guided.

At the heart of the blaze, awareness dissolved
Light ascended devoid of desire
From a trail intertwined
Life and death strewn behind
To the stars, it returned, from the fire.