Arsonist

ARSONIST The scene, a quiet country road, The villain, an arsonist. One match, that naked little flame, To dry grass, and rubbish lit. A gentle breeze, that sometimes friend, Becomes this time, evil's fiend, Fanning softly out, the fire, Igniting the lust of arsonist's desire. Falter for a moment, against fallen log, Smoke whisps rise, up in to the air, Log ignites, flames burn bright, Engulfing debris there. Fingers greedily reach out, Through the fence, to ripening crop, A gully wing urges breeze and fire, In minutes, engulf the lot. As if in answer to arsonist's prayer, Evil forces all join hands. Bushfire! the cry, nature does sigh, Once more evisions blackened lands. Increasing speed, this firey steed, Rushes through gullies, jumps hilltop heights, For voluntary aides, and firefighters, There will be no rest this night. Fireballs, from eucalyt oil and gas, Leap high, to heaven above, The bushland cries with anguish, At destruction of nature's love. On, on, in evil majesty, Smoke and flames billow in the night, The arsonist watches on in awe, The horror released, to his delight. Cross roads, invade pure pastures, Burn horses, sheep and cows. Native creatures run and fly, Few survivors this scavenger allows. Homesteads fall before the might, The wind blows to a gale, The fallen ash a mourners veil, Smoke, heat, and death, all do inhale Wet bags, firfighter units, spades, Hundreds join the cue, Fighting uncontrolled bushfires, A valiant, and proper thing to do. Battle on, day upon day, Wind's dragon breath behold, Furious,a monster within that heat, Determined to man's efforts beat. A breakthrough,with the backburns, Set hastily when wind did retreat, Would seem calling for reinforcments, Lashing back now in defeat. The ploy by man, did work this time, The wall of fire slows, then halts, Devestation and death wrench the heart, Of every battler who played a part, Creatures lying, some still dying, Men and women cry with loss. Blackened faces, reddened eyes, Exhausted, down tools  toss. A gentle breeze drifts down on those, Faces lift, to ease the pain, Feel the coolness of her breath, Pray that after her, be rain. Gentle breeze, how could you know? Mostly friend, sometimes foe. We all reach out, pray tonight, Another flickering flame, please dont ignite. In light of the fires now engulfing our country, I felt it appropriate to have this poem up front. Please pray for our country, our firefighters, and those who have lost so much. Tricia Written January 4th, 2002 © on Jan 04 2002 01:55 PM PST, Patricia Rosenberg   0 • 9