Can I know you?
What I see is a hand
that slams and scatters
dust, children of a world
left alone and battered.
Is this the life that you breathe?
or is it just my inferior logic?
This this would seem to me to be
your power play to take away
and intimidate with the flame-
Fire breather verses artless offender.
No contender could hope to withstand,
least the child you hold in your hand.
Ask, "Who do you say that I am?"
As the platform begins to turn
rolling over voices needing to be heard.
"Don't let us go down to the pit
where your fires of vengeance are lit
let me live.
Let me live.
How have I come to believe
that this is the fire you breathe?

I fight the heat!
If you breathe out life
I bleed out my frustration!
Immortalized
in these wounds of hatred.
it would seem to me
that this breath is a fire you've wasted.
And doesn't that just make us the same then?
I would look to the fire
to light up solemn spaces,
but it's behind the flame
that you've hidden your face and
the lie that I find:
that the fires refining.
But it just seems to me now
that the fire is dying,
demystifying.

And I can't sit with this,
surrounded by shadows of stranger faces
as your fire begins to dim.
I am left alone in the silent places