The Winds of War

The people rage, but who is their master?
An insatiable fire burns in the hearts of men,
and no water can quench its thirst.
Yet it grows and consumes all in its path.
Like waves tossed upon the sea,
driven by the mighty tempest, they rise and fall.
For who can say from whence the wind hails?
Or who can discern where its end will lie?
Rushing forth with such force and fury,
and marching over both fertile land and desert —
both lively places and the desolate, uninhabited reaches—
‘til like a weary traveler,
collapsing in slumber upon the bed of some chamber,
whether his own in his home
or a foreign inn at a great distance —
it matters not,
and slumbers he some time,
until, rousing from his sleep, rushes forth once more
to stir the embers of that great and insatiable fire.

Note for the reader: This poem was written for a character in my book, Beyond the Water's Edge.