Bushdancer II

[CopperStone]

The morning creeps so quiet
All sounds banished
No dawn chorus to awaken
Just deaths silent prayer

Sky screams
Sun bleeds
Cry, cry, rustle and shudder
Shrieked and ripped all up
Landscape rent
Into drought torn scraps

Daylight paints only memories
A sepia stained photograph
All the trees still standing as the were
But their leaves are a bronzed rust

Banshee dancer
With hair of fire
Flee, flee, run and chase
Fingers tearing
Natures flesh,
Leaving charcoal kisses

Old man Wilson sits drinking yankee whiskey
Wondering where old True Blue has gone
Is he out there... or up there...
Up in a smoke stained sky

[Poeticpiers]

conjured up astonishingly clear visuals. Perhaps whiskt is an adjunct to clear sight

[CopperStone]

well the whiskey is actually meant to be after the battle theres nothing left to do but drown ones exhaustion from the glass... The whole thing isn't meant to be a reflection through the eyes of the drink but its the aftermath of a bushfire interspersed with the recollections of the day before when it raged through with its destructive dance...