Tire Fire

A grim grey sky stretches over black fields,
Constructed from haphazard piles of rubber.
The artificial hills sit stationary.
An uneasy quietude.
A foreboding sense floats in the air.

Crashing across the bleak wasteland comes a hellish ocean,
Consuming the disposed remain of tires,
They fuel its infernal wrath.
The flames grow.
The heat rises.
Chaos.
Destruction.

From the fire colossal plumes of smoke rise,
Exploding up and rolling back down.
Floating into the sky,
Delicate black clouds.
Toxic black clouds.
Dispersing chemicals into the air,
Into the grim grey sky.

Authors note:

I wrote this poem several years ago at a philosophy summer camp. The poem was based on the photo below.