Fires

by Cliff Lake

Out there on the edge,
You see the constant glow,
And it is a comfort,
And a warning,
And a threat,
And a reminder,
We must never let the fires get low.
No one knows who started the fires,
Burning these 60 years.
No one knows how the fires were started,
That must not get low.
They keep the bad things away.
Thay have no name, these things,
They never look the same.
They stay beyond the fires,
Breeding in number,
Singing their horrible song
When the moon goes dark.
It is said they feed on rage-grass,
And will charge the villages
If the fires get low.
Then we will offer the wrong-birthed,
Whether animal,
 Or else,
And the very old
And the incurable
Will lie in the scorched fields,
And we may live in less fear,
For we have made submit,
And are penanced,
Or at least paid
For a time,
Unless the fires get low.
Do not go beyond the blaze,
Most do not return.
Those that do have been broken,
Or worse,
Tell of impossible things,
And speak of wonders,
And expose their madness
And are sent away
To live in their dreams
Should they dare.
Then do the elders
Erase their names from the count,
And we are less,
And it may happen
That soon there will be no one
To tend the flames,
And we will be overcome,
When the fires get low.

Cliff Lake 2/5/2024
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