Without reason.

The moon did fall into the sky that day.

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Lords of dust.

It whispers in the wind, it knows the secrets that they keep.

The words of hollow greed they speak, the minds they will pollute.

That place.

It looks nothing as it did, where I had grown from birth.

Where once clear skies of memory shone through times of good and bad,

Now lay unfamiliar sights and shapes where decay holds and consumes.

A breeze.

There is lust in the eyes of the seasons as each take their turn. The rolling fields of green to turn to purest white in time, and then in turn to baron brown to sprout in green again.

The blaze.

Under stars of frozen light, careless to dark beneath them. Subject to winds which chill the bone and keep any warmth at bay. One huddles with who and what they have to escape the bite of ice.