bobdubbloon

The Ashen Treasure

04:01:39 23 Jan, 2025

Grey bankers tally, pale faces grim, The daily grind wears frayed and dim. The Earth, our battlefield, scorched and torn, Leaves us to wonder why we were born. When death shrouds vision in a shadowed cloud And every voice feels harsh and loud, The fires rage, the wolves draw near, Life feels like dust—raw, cold, austere. As fires consume, the air they clear, The wolves may snarl, but teach through fear. The dust you curse contains the seeds, Of growth, of purpose, of secret deeds. For when the blaze has burned its share, And ash falls soft through mournful air, The soil beneath begins to sing, Of treasures born through suffering. A sprouting bloom, a buried vein, The hidden gifts of loss and pain. Each ember’s death, a chance to rise, To see anew with wiser eyes. Faint, lift your gaze, though scorched and sore, Walk on courageously once more - The fire's gift, the wolves' cruel test, Leave ashes where you’ll build your best.