Can't see the pathways through the crush
as forest's canopy makes night;
an overgrowth of underbrush
prevents new sprouts from reaching light.
Some cleansing clearing is in store
creating space to feed new life
by burning down what heretofore
had nourished nature.  Now it's rife
with rotted stands of misshaped growth
untended, harboring disease.
I strike the match. The fire is both
destroyer, bringer of a peace;
the aftermath of smoldering soul
with ashen truths to make me whole.