The town burns
Falling softly like butterflies made of the softest sweeps of ink
The ash flutters to the ground as gently as snowflakes
Billions fall adrift with a fragile elegance
Something so delicate born from something so broken.
They say "rise from the ashes" but when you are ash
It can seem impossible to rise up out of yourself.

And the town burns
Watching and waiting for the screaming to come yet it never does
The town burns quietly and somehow that is worse
For screaming means life.

It burns with a subtle heat
The heat that goes past the point of pain to where feeling stops
The point where everything collides into softly falling ash
Ash that blurs vision into a field of gray.

And the town burns.