Submission to Flame

It's a hard living.

Living lower than human.

Begging for mercy

in streets covered with death.

Sick of the sickness.

Ill from the misery.

Exhausted being the vagabond.

Diseased with melancholy.

The oak stands tall.

I am an ant.

My torso is thinner

than its limbs.

Gathering myself

To the point of letting go.

Whispers of death

haunt my lips.

My knees give out

At the feet of the oak.

The spark ignites

and my spark goes out.

The tree cackles.

Crackles with flame.

Goes up in an inferno

of silent submission.

Done with this world.

Thinking of futures to come.

Longing for departure

to my final home.