Poetry by Amelia Fischer

Of mountains and of summer breeze, of firestorms and rain.

Of sorrow and of guilt.

Of suffering and pain.

Of disaster and peace, of war and of tranquility.

Of life and of death, of famine and nobility.

Of traits we carry on from death, that bind us in our bones.

From the ashes raise the torch and burn this tranquil home.

Of the thirst of greed and vengeance, we have waged our wars.

From the outside burning in, kill the kingdom's corps.

Of peace that we once had, that we have torn apart.

From the blood that was spilled, a truly gruesome art.

Of all that we may see, we fail to see our flaws.

From the fear that builds us stronger, all the weak were kept afar.

Of the rain and of the storm, of all our fates combined.

Of the ashes and the smoke, a truth they told of lies.

Of the creature that combed our fates, our lifeless corpses starve them.

For they feast of flesh and blood, and we are wicked humdrum.

Of still will and shadowed lives lost.

Of the suffering and pain.

Of the war we waged alone, walking through the hell and rain.