the festival of light

the whole world
covered in white smoke
ashes of what was once
held by us

I stroll along
lines and lines
of ruins – dead trunks
of last year’s cherry treas
I pass

along mighty old watch towers
now tumbling with shrapnel
I whistle with two fingers
and wait for the broken walls
to sing back to me

little of what’s left
from what we’d describe with glory
I scratch off
from dust,
and cigarette buds

muddy aisles
moths torn sheets
I find a little spot for quiet
revealing in two palms
what I stole
from the garbage canned tree

with a lighter I burn
the new found treasure
it releases some light
to ever numbing darkness

and though no one around
will join me in a song
the shadows seemed to dance