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Ash



What will be left
when we're done with it?

I hope those who judge us
judge us uncompromisingly.

An engine was built
and it needed fuel.

There were more who fed it
than there were who built it.

The fire was bright and blinding,
and everything went into it.

The madness said "Put everything in,"
and we did.

Can you imagine, can you feel
the hatred of those consigned to a world of ash?

All poems are written and copyrighted by Michael C. Rush.
None may be republished or repurposed without permission.