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The sky faded when fire painted it red;
I cannot find the salvation it promised,
or the hope I clung on to at the barest times.
The ground is fresh with spilled violence,
sprinkled with crass care
at those who yearn to reach the heights.
But the heavens do no not have the mercy
it takes to reach the end.
It took a while, but I look up,
past the whistles and streaks of death,
and in a throw of hands, I know now
—the sky cannot save me

My soul broke when the waters rushed to shore,
devouring ages, moments, and chances
from the life I thought was mine to live.
I cannot beg the sand to bring me far
from the place I call home,
or the oath I swore to what my nation became.
The ground was fresh
with a trail of my heart in pieces,
sprinkled by my bloodied hands
to those who have yet to shatter theirs.
And the sea does not have the judgment
it takes to drown the greed of man.
It took a while, but when I stare out
into the fiery horizon, I know now
—justice cannot save me.

The story shifted when I took the sorrow
and ran for the warm shallows.
I know—I cannot plead for joy or peace,
or safety, or love, unless I was ready
to lose something of equal value, if not more.
The ground was fresh with the sunlight
shining without regard to those who will burn.
And the sun does not have the ounce of might
to defeat the looming ruin for a future
we lost or have forgotten.
It will take a while, but when I gaze at the sky,
past the water line, and into the blaze of the sun,
I will know eventually that love, joy, and peace
—they cannot save me.

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