Burn it Down

Spark the sulfur and toss the match

She’s about to burn it down

Scrape the flint and prep the fuel

She’s walking onto the battleground

The air smells of sparks and pain

She pulled the firecracker’s string

The mother bird constructed her nest

With no longer a desire to sing

Her hair reeks of broken promises

Her glowing pit chars his skin

She spreads her tears on his substrate soul

When will the end game begin?

She ran into their controlled burn lines

As they professed their commitment to the world

Then he silently watched her finger-match strike

Missing the boy and his girl

To spark the sulfur and toss the match

She felt there was no other way

and no matter the water he spritzed on the flame

she couldn’t conquer the gray.