The funeral pyre burning through the night by Jonathan Beale

Out of the firelight everything was black and silver, black island, rocks and trees carved cleanly out of the sky and silver river with a flashing light rippling back and forth along the lip of the fall.” ― William Golding, the inheritors

They came, they came, and they came to pass.
Watching, from the distant hills. – Unseen.
They mused on a question, not yet known or understood.
Yet feeling a ‘why’ as a belly full lust or hunger.
They talked back and gave something other
than heat – who were those ‘others?’
And why were they doing what they did?
Unlike us, and how are we…are we different?

We could not allow their primitive state to exist.
It may corrupt ours – what if ‘they’ yes ‘they’
Proved stronger than us – we had to use our ‘fire.’
Inside, we struck them in what to us was right,
‘the right thing to do.’
……………………………….(We were early Politician’s) then –
we built that funeral pyre that burned through the night.

“At the moment of vision, the eyes see nothing.” William Golding

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