In All Eyes

The fire dances with the trees, 

With no stopping, it spreads.

A horrific sight, indeed.

In the wake of this inferno, 

Growing up, music was always a constant. 

Then, it meant very little to me.

It was only background noise, but always there. 

With the crashing tide,

And wisps of wind, 

Rain melts all there was. 

And all that will ever be. 

As water rises in the sea.