Flowers of War - Poem

The burning sensation of cold,
Hit the bones stepping out into the house.

The feeling was relentless,
Burning up emotions even.

Who are to go first,
If not Gods of the old.

A purified fire,
Refined over the course of time,
Casually hung back,
To consume the remaining evil.

Yearning for the rest,
That evaded the ever fighting soldiers on the battlefield.

Over the field,
Into the memory of the dreams that once was.

An evil entity at the edge,
Came prancing into the place of worship.

Be the sky,
Be the hope,
Born in the image of the fearless one.

Photo by Nerijus Pugačiauskas on Unsplash