ASHES

in a war zone

the flash of flame flares eager and glaring,
sears the quiet sky.
the smoke is soon gone and drifts as the wind wills
the ashes are cold and linger
but are finally wind-driven too
and scatter into dust that spills
and flies and lies invisible in ev'ry place

yet dust bears seeds that grow to grace
perhaps to flowers to adorn a young bride's face
and soon, so soon helps us forget

for now, at least