A fire strikes this frigid room

And burns with fierce delight.

It heats the air, but not the heart,

And shields us from the night.


But night can heal these open wounds.

The dark – a soothing calm.

Consumed in flames we cannot forgive

Nor see where we went wrong.


There’s anger here that’s unaddressed.

This fire blinds the logical mind.

And so we sulk in disarray.

Agreement, we cannot find.


Douse these flames before they burst.

They enfold us with faulty feeling.

Forget the past, it’s the future now.

The present has been revealing.


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