They set a bonfire at the edge of Carmine wood; 

A spell of grey smoke arose

And intermingled with

mountain fog.

Distant flames cracked holes in plastic air

And the others,


In shadowy lairs.
Two rangers called out across an aspera glow,

Something about ash and oak

and charcoal snow;

I hurried past, for my bones were cold,

And I was eager to see my home.
“What’s the rush?”, said a voice

Echoing in my head 

“You have no choice,

You’re already dead;”

But I just ignored him

and forged ahead,

Clinging to shadows along a narrow ledge.
The important roads are always obscured.

The ones that lead somewhere meaningful,

Are always veiled in fear.

“There is laughter too.” I whisper to my heart,

As the fire spat its anger,

At the fathomless dark.


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