by Ash Krafton
It was the most beautiful of snow falls–
serenity fell in a hush
thick flakes shushing onto branch and bush
to lie undisturbed, spreading a sweet clean shroud over the still outpost
and the silence was a prayer that smogged out in a thick layer.
Even the wilds were subdued and still–
no bird nor forest-dweller broke the smoky, breathless twilight
or the cold bright morning that followed
when all that remained of the extermination
was the heart-aching beauty of crystalline stillness.
Cobalt shadows and fiery sunrise played upon the uneven field of white
gentle shades echoing the intense blazes that had long burned out.
If a single survivor remained to witness this singular scene
surely he’d have sworn upon his life
that the village had been touched by God’s hand,
littered with angels’ down, a wintery blessing
But the spoilers are gone, the outpost departed.
Silence lies undisturbed, a town denied sound
by the advent of untimely season’s end.
When Spring comes–if Spring comes–
the snow will melt, a quiet memory
revealing the men now dead and gone.
Dragons had cleansed the land.
Ruin of body and town
char and blood and terror and grief
I wasn’t kidding when I invited you to hop with us.