Funny how much longer it takes
To start the fire than to kill it.

If you added up all the time
It had taken for each and every
Flowering branch to grow

You would see that death is fast,
While life is slow.

The momentous decisions we make,
Those idle killing blows,
Are contrary to ourselves.

Why do we need the contrast of hate,
To value love?
Confronting the most jealous guardians of love,
Is like facing the fiercest dragon.

In the tempest of unbecoming
Our thin shields and frail swords are nothing.
There is nothing left when it is all over,

Except the sad, sad eyes that watch the blaze
The beauty of destruction as it consumes everything we thought we were inside.


Who is this ghost,
This apparition who watches
Myself burning to ash.

How can I be so totally destroyed by this
Yet still able to see?

Because i am the fire.
And when there is nothing left to take
I will be finished.