Ash Wednesday

the smoke curls gently

up

from a scene of devestation

this once was a town

a house

this once was a place

a thing 

of beauty

and yet now 

twisted and smoldering

blacked

the smoke rises from what 

once was

you cannot enter

this place

this place of ruin

and death

without being touched

by ashes

which cling

and mark

leaving us dirty

a sign

of our uncleanliness

and our participation

in what has happened here

this creation

of a wasteland

that we call earth

and yet

this day

these ashes

mark us

not as those who do not see

not as those who do not feel the pain 

of this destruction

not as those who do not repent

not as those who do not hope

but as those
who, while marked

who look forward

toward the rising

of the 

son