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