At the beginning, when lighting this fire,
I thought I was just playing with matches
until I realized that when my plan hatches
I've got it under control.
Fire fighters can control fire,
but they can't control desire
and now I have lived in my human pyre,
the feeling of hell on razor wheels
down in the pit of my stomach.
The feeling that keeps you up
and makes you write til your numbers up,
and I couldn't stop it even if I wanted,
this task is my final gauntlet,
so I go crazy not to squander it.
It only happens once in a life time,
and it ends whenever the clock chimes,
so I fight to keep that minute hand
from going one measure further,
but I can't fight a time marked brand,
so in the end I will be the server
of all who fight until the end
of the struggle, to help those after me
so I'll cry for others to hear my plea
to treat others right until the world can see
what they've done so well.
Writing this when I was tired. Its pretty...ya, I don't know if this is my normal poetry, but I just went with it.
