Remorseful Fire

Remorseful Fire

Destruction, smoke-filled rooms, ashy essentials burnt to flames.

Words like those are used for me daily.

If you cannot already tell the names fire.

I am the creator of both devastation and destruction.

Or I am supposed to be.

Being a fire is not as jolly as the other fires make it seem.

The rapid commotion continuously blaring like a bird singing its constant tunes.

I am a match that never stops lighting.

Day to day I do my job and ruin people’s lives.

The victims scattered around all weeping.

They all have the same response.

They always beg me not to burn them.

It’s not like I have a choice.

Being the predator is not as easy as it seems.

The other fires have no problem doing their job, so why do I?

How am I supposed to react to something being erased from life?

Do not let me remind you of the shattered family.

Whoever said being a fire is better is simply naive.

Even fires can feel remorse.