I once lived in bliss, as if a cloud floating in the sky,
But one day I was forced from my home.
It then became a distant memory, a lost file.
Then, there was only the fall and the cursèd groans.
Others from my home fell with me, and many would cry,
"Why? For what purpose have the stitches of our lives been sewn?
Who dictates these events, and when will our tears dry?"
Some tried to answer but I did not; I simply fell without any word or protest.
During the journey from my home there was much chaos.
I looked left and right and watched my friends burn,
As it became much hotter than my home was.
I looked up and down and saw my friends blown,
And ripped to shreds by the fierce gusts.
Soon the many became the few, and the protests were heard more:
“Who dictates these events, and why must our gold rust?"
Some tried to answer but I did not; I simply fell without any word or protest.
Eventually I could see the ground, and the screams of the others around me.
The fall was coming to an end, and it seemed that even after this fall there is winter.
As I closed my eyes, I waited for the inevitable end, yet death seemed to let me be.
The piles of bodies around me softened my fall, and allowed my flame to flicker.
The survivors began to call out for their families, but unfortunately,
Paralyzation is the disease of the survivors. I heard them roar,
“Who dictates these events, and why aren’t we free?”
Some tried to answer, but I did not; I simply watched without any word or protest.
I have now sat in the pile of the dead for three months.
I have seen my friends thrown into the air by growling machines,
And every day I can feel even more the warmth of the sun.
But now I feel the burning spreading throughout my being.
I hear the others’ screams and grunts,
“Help me, I can’t feel my body. I’m burning up and I can’t see anything!
Who dictates these events, and why can’t we triumph?”
Only I am left to answer, but I can’t; I simply fade away without any word or protest.
