El Gaucho Martin Fierro

This poem lead me down a spiraling trial to the unknown. As I read each passage I would pause...my hand came alive and began to sing a story...the raging waves started to appear...horses taking charge to put the flames to rest. The rolling country hills began to burn... as  a single tree's roots grasped to protect the virgin Mary from the darkness...the tree risking it's very own life...its leaves charred from the flames...but 

although the body almost turned to dust...the spirit remained in the night sky...watching...protecting.

The smoke, blood red, black tar, ate the sky...as all seemed to to burn and degrade...the archangel Michael appeared...