Hills on Fire

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From where I am you

don’t just smell it when

the smoke rolls down from

high above on the

now blazing, flaming,

angry, vengeful peaks,

bringing with it the

smell of disaster.

This is disaster

that we earned ourselves.

Thick,  so thick it stings

our eyes and sticks to

our skin leaving soot

residue as the

great clouds roll down, chased

by wicked, vicious,

hungry flames, wildly

devouring life, claws

of unbridled greed,

hunger, repressed for

decades now unleashed

by a single act.

From where I am now

I can feel the heat

from ten thousand fires.

The horizon glows

ominously, it

heralds the approach.

The flames are coming,

they don’t stop coming.

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