No, I don't own FMA. Wish I did. The poetry, however, is mine.

I'm new to the FMA fandom, so please forgive some of the mistakes I make.

This was inspired by English class – we were reading and discussing Eliot's The Waste Land (an example of modern poetry) when I got to thinking about FMA. The first line of the poem just screamed to life, and the rest practically wrote itself.

This is separated into three verses – the spacing effect makes it difficult to illustrate.

If you get any of the references, please tell me – I didn't get half of them myself!

Thirsty Stars

The blood-gold stone; too few have bled

To forge the essence of the dead

That springs to life within your eye

Because the sun must chase the sky

And every man who lives must die

Why do you shrink and cry in fright?

It is not even half the night

Before we heard the screech-owl cry.

OOOOOO

Because the fire's only flame

And all the power in a name

Is cradled in a pristine hand

There is a cloak across the land

So all our blessings sink to sand

To scramble, scream, for what was lost

You know the price. You know the cost.

The ancient pathways of the damned.

OOOOOOOO

For gold rings true. And even love –

(The soiled fist. The silken glove)

Is but a beast to twist and churn

For as the twisted prophets learn

The flint strikes true. The spark shall burn

The shriven horrors of the years

Too late for sighs. Too late for tears.

The hawk must chase the sun, and I

(The stars are fragments) Rise above.