My Home Is Burning (I wish it were fiction)
Fire always comes in twos.
Out of sight,
Out of mind, old news.
The world burned once the whole land through.
Then we picked up our torch and lit it anew.
My Golden home burned once in ninety-two.
And now my home burns again; the fire grew.
The fire once swept America to turn father on son.
Centuries later, we’re still there. The burning’s not done.
The burning isn’t done.
We don’t learn the first time,
But we rise
From the ash
But we hold onto it, the filth, the grime.
Not even a Phoenix lives forever.
Someday we’ll burn to the ground
In the dirt
And then fade away without a sound.
Never to rise again.
We are Phoenix.
We were born not to die,
But to Fly.