The Fire
Orange and purple worriers dance neurotically,
Engulfing their prey; the log. The soldiers of stone stand,
Immune to the rippling blaze. Their eyes glazed over,
Heartless, listening to the eerie cry of the dying chunk;
Hungrily, the warriors gnaw; planting their seeds in the sad, empty holes of the log. Fire, stone, smoke.
The log has no hope. Then, god answers the prayer.
Cold, cool waters rush over the infested victim.
The flames spit angrily as they die.
Hissing with instant relief, the remains of this massacre are lifted by the life giving waters over the stone soldiers.
Order is once again restored as the savior brings the wood safely to rest on the ground outside of the death ring's grasp.
The log wants only to go back to the way things were;
Standing tall in the forest surrounded by a symphony of life.
But it never can, for that would take away experience, that would take away time.... stare
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Just a figment of your deranged imagination...
"No matter where you go, there you are"
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"No matter where you go, there you are"