The rain fell thick but slowly
As if grief had stolen
Its energy away by the masses
Leaving it unable to put out the flames
Which were spreading with avaricious greed
Reaching toward the dark sky
The leaves curled and gave forth
Choking clouds of protest
The trees creaked and crashed as
Smoldering shadows to the ground
The houses were nothing but corpses by morning
The ashes were soon on the wind
The people had watched with silent grief
Standing as still as a death-mask
Hiding their horror at
How fragile their
Reality was, in the end
