Dead Wood

Skeletons, stiff arms reaching for the cloudy sky

Frozen in tragic position

Leaves long scorched to blackish permanence

Tree trunks the color of ash protrude from the ground

Bleakness permeates everything

Green is a color of the past

The sign of fruitfulness; it has long since vanished

Blackened logs lie stretched out in the dirt

The valley stretches endlessly, a sea of sharp, needle-like figures, pointing upward in furious, helpless distress

Fire has smoldered to piles of cinders and wispy black smoke that drifts away

The great Destroyer has passed on, leaving turmoil behind

A whisper of wind brushes across my skin

It whistles between bone-white tree limbs and branches

I stare in wonder about me

For this is the Dead Wood.

-Irony Illuminator