Confessions of a Pyromaniac

The Incineration of…


So often, leaving well enough alone is better said than done:
    No sooner has a fire been reduced to a smolder
    someone comes and scoops up coals from underneath the rubble,
    making a new fire next to the one near extinction.
And while that new blaze is being nurtured into life,
    hot air is blown in just the right amounts and tight places.
Not only does this new fire now take flight, but the one
    reduced to nothing is now flamed back into existence.


Now, two unwanted fires blaze with such glorious faces.
New kindle is added to this new conflagration:
    what a kaleidoscope of color this new monument makes;
    how entrancing are those flames as they greedily partake.
Such treasured family heirlooms are now burning at the stake.
One’s precious articles are added for good measure’s sake.
Followed are the items closest to fondest memories.
Why not add the forest to the mountain as it bakes?


A bonfire’s not complete without some added extra fuel:
    as the golden rule assures, just a drop or two will do.
Crackle, crackle, pop: fuming flames now grasp at hungry air;
    spewing their spawn offspring seeds into a fragile world;
    searing silken flesh as they unearth their common ground;
    branding their territory by marking where they now land.


Now, since the fire’s all-ablaze, glowing strong and bright
    I’d like to add my own things and lighten up my load…
       First are all the insults, they really have to go.
       Next comes all the broken things hidden from the light.
       Let’s not forget the hurtful stuff buried with the trash;
          the items next to bitterness and harsh cracks.
I think it’s time to lose those red-hot coals upon my heart.
Plus the boxes of regretted things forever tearing me apart;
    their contents overflowing like a pack rat’s treasure chest:
       with pride so high, it hits the sky;
       with things allowed to slip by;
       with acts so selfish, filled with shame;
       with pity’s gritty sand;
       with things I’ve said in fits of rage;
       with vanity’s so grand;
       with times I pushed to shift the blame;
       with haughty, dirty hands;
       with lies so stupid they were lame…
And even after all of this, those boxes still contain more,
    but for sanity’s sake, I’ll say no more!


Now the fire’s burning strong and bright, as infernos tend to do:
    Perhaps I’ll save myself a stick while I watch the blaze ensue,
        and over the open flame I’ll roast a marshmallow or two.