The Tree of Fire

From that fleeing vulture
It must have seemed as though the sun
Had come to earth to share its culture
That morning when the deed was done
 
And in the final dying light
The bird could see its egg cracked free
As it darted through the clouds in flight
Across the breeze of Japan’s pink sea.
 
Justice, justifiably jarred
Turned her head to face the moon
And in the heat her heart was scarred
As the tree of fire’s blossom bloomed
 
Then when the flame had found its root
It spread with trembling tortured trail
Leaving back its solemn soot
And setting soul to sail.
 
The screaming scorn of children crying,
The orison of the fallen walls.
And fiery lakes were drowning and dying
As parents gave their final calls.
 
Fire has no discrepancy,
No prejudice to stay the flame.
It burns and lights the lonely effigy
Of martial story and ancient fame.
 
All skin blisters and in blistering melts.
The rivers burst their banks in dread
From bodies wasted by molten welts;
The dreadful dams of the dead.
 
Dying lacked honour where murder soared
Its ugly wings to callous ends.
And in the fray where fires roared,
Justice to the righteous tends.
 
The empire of the fallen sun,
In ruins, lay with mountains dying.
And in the blaze of glory won
Justice held her eyes from crying.
 
They say the fire died in time.
They say they watched it die.
From the nest that coined the vulture’s crime,
A wasted witless war cry.
 
Victors pen history’s chapters.
Tell me, how can this be so?
When sun comes down behind the rafters
And leaves its ash like piles of snow.
 
Death is universal in the grave.
Its creeping claws claim all,
There is nothing left to save,
When the sun upon the earth should fall.
 
And from the safety of family wall,
The boy looks to the dusk and end of day.
Tears flow as he sees the sun fall
And travel far away.