As Ray Bradbury put it,
“It was a pleasure to burn.”
The kind of emotions that line will submit,
Think about fire, the way it makes you yearn.
Fat, old, or short,
Tall, skinny, or young,
We need fire to support.
The way that rolls off of your tongue.
The way we can’t help but be drawn,
The flames burning bright.
Don’t you see the way that fire floats like a swan?
Every time I see it I take flight.
That’s so true.
All is well, says the Highland Coo.
The rabbit may have been faster,
But the tortuous still won.
Keep your minds; the future is a disaster,
We burnt our wings when we flew to the sun.
“It’s perpetual motion.”
It’s a destroyer, antibiotic, artistic, sensible,
We burn those who cause a commotion.
Every rebel is dispensable.
Ashes.
The dystopia crashes.