Ash Poem by Eoin Smith

A small draft of air:
The aftermath of destruction,
Nothing moves, nothing settles.
Everything is calm, peaceful, collected;
The silent few: unprotected.

We sit; unmoving –
Shadows of lives forgotten.
Huddled around
Our souls lay bare. We contemplate,
Time will tell, and reveal our fate.

Unable to move, to breathe, we
Wait for a sign. A hope. A dream.
And still we wait.
The Earth stands still as we few become one,
No longer exposed to the light of the Sun