The sun sets behind a cloud of smoke and flame.
A darkness ushered in with a millennia.
The sea-soaked earth
The empty bowl
The loaded gun.
The desperate cry.
The night.
Nothing left to save
Nothing left to love.
Nothing but the flame.
Hidden within the shroud of chaos.
Hidden, but there.
In the eyes of the old, withered farmer.
Working hour after backbreaking hour so that his children wouldn’t have to.
In the heart of the mourning widow, that through all her woe carries on.
The flame,
Of hope.
And though now the light may fall.
Silhouetting the shape of two broken towers as it slowly slips away into the horizon,
It will return.
The sun will rise.
The dawn will break.
And hope will reign
