Like a faded brick wall
That has been milled and pressed
Combined and forced until nothing was left
Empty, and open, disturbed from the inside
A fine powder like ash
It covers the ground like a blanket
A blanket that was hand stitched
Sewn by the hands of the maker
Its beauty is not in itself
But in its existence
The way its sticks to your shoes
Leaving an imprint, of a place you once were
Now burned into your memory
A moment in time you won’t forget
Faces and places now silhouettes in time
Never to be recreated again
They sweep across the sky staggered
Like blocks that have been purposefully placed
Except their shapes have no boundaries
Immeasurable, expansive works of art
A painter with the finest paintbrush
One small stoke after another
Adding a little bit here, a little bit there
Until the land was covered