The energy became clear
suddenly- a tiny spark
survives on a stomped stogie
as it lays limp in the right lane,
caught by the wind the spark
drifts to a nearby patch-
new green grass sprouts from
a dead yard, greeting the
afternoon sun shyly,
the flicker lands on a fresh
blade, a game emerges:
the ember against Mother Nature-
under the hot summer sun
fire emerges the victor
as the spark nests on a green tip,
it slowly burns the single
blade of grass, growing
vastly each millimeter
until a fire transpires,
enveloping the entire patch
with heated energy;
No longer does a patch of life
exist in the midst of dead earth,
the yard is now truly One
putrefied energy, stagnant
yet hopeful.
I love the last paragraph especially, but this whole poem is excellent. it's strange that you would pit fire against mother nature... usually people consider fire a force of nature, but your tone suggests that the earth didn't want the fire, which i find really interesting
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