Mitchel David Ring

Witness Ash

These hills feel colorless...

Why can’t the shadows give us answers?

Blink and it all could fade away...

This noose we share around our necks in dying light becomes a fuse...

Old travels through worlds left behind resurface as pale memories...

Sound returns to a valley of whispers...

It’s all there, ready for the reaping, set against a backdrop of a thousand suns where we toil to the end of days...

Blink and it’s gone, melted into shadow or never there in the first place...

Slow down and feel the movement, tremors through a crowd of waiting faces all breathing together the fumes of ritual fire...

These answers lying in desert sands justify the prayers of the fallen...

Time only for a breath before the plunge then racing through nerve end passageways...

It’s easy to imagine this desert is left over from some apocalypse, and the AC blasting across our faces is a shield against the fallout.

When rains of summer fall and wind howls from the sea...

On a coast battered and bruised we stand and search for distant visions...

Each moment must die before the next is born...