So bright. I used to be so bright. I'd burn freely on the wood, many surrounding my flame. I'd watch as they enjoyed my light, my warmth, what I could provide. I hadn't noticed or cared for the wood beneath me, slowly burning. People liked the flames. Such warmth and light, such comfort, a refreshing experience in their dark hikes through the woods. They were desperate to keep it burning for themselves, I let them. They fed me too much, increasing the flicks of fire, forgetting how destructive I, an old flame, can be. A forest fire started, everyone involved, everyone once comforted by such a thing, now burnt. The fire raged and destroyed. People tried to put it out, yet only left it weakened, never out. Eventually the forest burned down, now I am just ash. Ash forced to admire everyone's light. Still so flammable, yet now so small, burns out so fast. I crave for my flame once more, it hurt, yet, people needed me, wanted me, "loved" me. Once such a bright flame, now burnt into nothing more than ash.
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Vent Writing Excerpts
PoetryNot really meant to have form, just where I kinda express myself. I love hearing people's interpretations on what they think the meaning behind each one is so please, feel free to tell me what you think.
