Against all who would remake the world, drawing
Newly risen old and tired faces into novel bodies,
One must be willing to stop, to claim dead spirits
For the void, consigning them to peace despite
Seemingly bitter ends brought to apparent innocence.
These flames flicker, light needed for souls held
Together only by ruin, desolate land crumbling,
A crushing need for renewal, to begin again
Where old bodies have fallen, ready as kindling
To be consumed, fuel for a fire to mark the future.