Sunday, September 03, 2006

To the Wronged

One by one, these hateful words
Lashing clawing biting like birds
At you, in my moment of frustation
Feeding, breeding a conflagration.

A little foresight, had I had that virtue
Would have told me I'll be hurt too
The words I can't believe I spoke
Fuel a fire that licks the one to stoke.

It's growing, glowing, this huge furnace
And it isn't one that I can try to harness
None can calm this self-bred beast save you,
Will you do so ere I am consumed through?

Though, as a late-arriving afterthought
Wouldn't everything for which you fought;
Wouldn't the bleak burnt land in between
Be worse than what is now there to be seen?

Leave this all-consuming fire be,
Let its warm waves wash over me.
Let me die in the hope that maybe
I'm not as bad as I make myself out to be.

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