The fire is burning wildly,
But the wild is unaware,
What used to haunt the hunter,
Now hunts the hare.

Moles deep in their holes,
Hoping it will pass,
But alas, it searches, pokes and prods,
Its burns deeper than grass.

Hoping for an escape,
To a river, to a lake,
Run, shreik, scramble dig,
This fire isn't fake.

Trusting in someone.
A swinging suspension bridge.
My balance fails me.

Staring
at the empty word document on my screen
Waiting
for a jolt of poetic words that can express
everything inside of me I've been avoiding
But I'm coming up with nothing
empty hands
empty mind
empty heart
I feel censored in my art  
and I don't know how to remove the static