Poem-A-Day: Day 303

Small Fires

Small fires soon grow if left unattended,
pulling in the air,
plucking it like flower petals
and letting it smolder under its own weight.
Small fires soon become monsters,
rampaging beasts bent on trampling,
and decimating what was what
that has become nothing but notations
in the margins
for the purpose of insuring well being.
Small fires soon take over,
if there are things left to conquer,
madly grabbing everything around,
in flailing childlike tantrums.
Small fires soon die
the same way that most die,
expiring, having lost interest,
or being smothered by some external force,
some omniscient presences judging,
examining the fire and its worth,
deciding when and how.