It's true we were made of ash.



Nothing important.


Little bits of grey, black and burning white.




Flickering, falling, swirling and fading.




Fairy dust scattered by wind.





Harmless really.






















It's true we condensed.





Became something more, muted glow of embers.




A touch of red to monochrome.




Dense and dripping though still scattering in the breeze.



The wind was still our ruler.



Meant no more then a fist of smoke if you ask me.
























It's true we hardened.




Slowly became less shiftable, stronger.




Didn't swirl as much.


No more light dancing.



No longer fairy dust or dandelions.


Grey hide the wind could no longer move.




A small threat, nothing more.




Just a flicker of war drums.



























It's true we sparked.



Embers came to light.




Ashes fell away.



Toughened hide cracked, inner heat grew stronger.



The wind left us then.



No use for something so irrevocable.

























It's true we caught fire.



Houses fell as we sprung up.



No use for shells any longer.



They ran and we consumed.



Death followed us.



Ripped the wind into a frenzy.


Spared no man.


Brought cities to their knees.


No gods to save them.


Became the monsters of this world.



Ashes no man.









It's true we burned.

Burned too bright.

Consumed all we could, ruined what we couldn't.

Our own fire choked us.

The very thing we usedto be smothered us.

Inner heat grew dim.

Flickered.

Reached out one more time.

Went out.












It's true the wind ended it.

Blew out the last traces.

We became weak once more.

Lost parts of ourselves.

Never the same.

Always the same.









































Ashes to ashes.