Late Summer Fields

Fall was still to come,

yet everything was already falling.

A young nation of ideologues,

spellbound.

A thousand stories

silenced,

giving rise to

a thousand more.

Smoke signals from

a troubled land,

an island of immigrants

seeking shelter

amidst the powdered glass

and disfigured steel.

Divorced from the motherland

we were orphaned

yet again.

We gathered in late summer fields

and wept,

“Ashes! Ashes!

We all fall down.

Hush! Hush! Hush!

We've all tumbled down.”