I'm flying.
From way up here, you look so small,
but the fires that you started have burnt further than I can see.

Once a green valley, only thick soot remains, poisoning the soil,
ensuring nothing will grow again.

The rivers, that turned from trickles to raging torrents, now carry ash downstream,
becoming enablers to this disease by transporting it across the land.
Where once life and purity lived,
now decay and dirt breed.

Contaminatation.
That's what it is,
what has been growing and festering since the first sparks popped into life.

That's what you brought,
and the fire had burnt through me,
leaving only brittle bones and blacked thought.

And I never knew until someone taught me to fly,
instead of blindly running from the flames,
lit by a child playing with matches.

I used to run, walk, or crawl to you.

Now, I'm flying.