Cinerous Drops of November Rain.

Singed skin and maggots, sear away with the smoke.
Choking the innocence and clean of outdoors...
I whiff in the ashes, the dust of the oaks,
As their bodies decay in the flaming gorge.

Wailing cries drown deep in the fire...
Brought to a cease by the smack of jagged rock.
Like fleshly slugs drowning in a mire,
They clump together, and quickly die off.

A combustible feast, but all to what cause?
Simply none, why must genocide be rational?
With life-sized dangling shish kabobs,
I can almost find this dreaded roast laughable...

Two serrated jaws with teeth of granite.
That hook along falling roots and flesh.
A crack in the earth, is to where they are banished...
Nothing distinguishes itself from charred mesh.