The crimson moon is staring, but there is little it can do,
its face has turned a darker shade, so grim but oh so true.
Beautiful was Victorian country, so lush with shady trees;
a lifestyle that lured so many, to the valleys and cool breeze.
Any paradise beside the bush, is a huge responsibility indeed.
Sadly desire for redevelopment, manifest out of political greed.
400 hundred fires were raging, where sun has parched the land,
every volunteer was called to fight again, or at least to lend a hand.
Days of 40-plus degrees, volatile fuel born from sun-burnt trees.
A spark a cigarette or match, we fear arsonists minds diseased.
Like a raging Bull, a state’s furnace fed off exploding eucalypts,
trails of sheer destruction, was this Australia’s worst Apocalypse?
Shrapnel showered evening skies, like meteors, embers spread.
where sparks fell upon the homes, new fires rose to claim its dead.
Like robbers in the darkest night, these fires crept quick and out of sight,
then roaring over hill and vale, deadly fireballs no one could fight.
Worst imaginable in memory, fires raged and ravaged over every hill,
It ripped through communities, leaving families stunned, or laying still.
Some stood on the battle front, fighting bravely until their own end.
Whilst others were consumed by smoke, their souls to God they lend.
Many tried to flee by car, but which way could or should they turn?
All roads blocked by fires and ash, so their shell became their urn.
Heroes were born on this tragic day, many lives were saved again,
stories of survival told, seem to temporarily relieve their pain.
The true spirit of our nation shows, as we have few tears left to shed,
all pulled together, with donations to friends & families of the dead.
One halve a million hectares, from hundreds of fires on Black Saturday.
Thousands of homes, Two hundred dead, it’s the worst in memory they say!
To count the cost is incomprehensible, not sensible nor fair,
scars will burn forever, in the hearts of those who were spared.
So as I look towards the darkened moon that’s not quite full as yet,
This horrid nightmare for all to bear, is a day we will never forget.
By combining Poetry into a photograph you get POETPICS or PHOTOPOETRY.
A phrase of philosophy integrated into a photograph = PHILOETRY
Donate to the Smith family appeal via the link or buy an A4 / A3 size Glossy ‘Poetpic’
Search for my auto signature © James Irvine (hidden within Poetry Photographs)
See how this and other poems play a part in the Story 'Finding Harvey’, crafting another dimension of creative writing = 3D-Poetry.